The Starkin Crown (25 page)

‘Blazing balls, they missed! Fire again!'

‘But, your Majesty … you promised me your daughter's hand … you said I'd be your heir!' Lord Goldwin was aghast.

She smiled coyly at him and reached out one squat hand to pat his cheek. ‘Why marry her when you can have me? Perhaps we can make our own heirs, eh?'

Lord Goldwin turned so pale it looked as if he might faint.

Again and again the starkin soldiers fired, while the four prisoners watched in an agony of fear. The grogoyle adroitly swerved and ducked through the wall of arrows, then soared away, disappearing into the blue sky.

‘Stupid soldiers!' Vernisha grumbled. ‘Tell them to practise firing against each other! Now, my darling, let's go eat. I need to keep my strength up if I'm to give you an heir'. She smiled at Lord Goldwin and held out one ring-laden hand. Looking sick and shaken, he bowed and kissed it, then followed the swaying throne back down the stairs towards the banqueting hall.

Slumped with disappointment, the four prisoners shuffled after, their faces all turned back to stare to the small square of blue sky slowly dwindling behind them.

T
HE EEL-BOAT SLOWLY NEGOTIATED ITS WAY DOWN THE
river, through shallow channels of water surrounded on either side by reedy beds and clumps of tall grasses and marsh weeds. Many times the boat almost ran aground on mud, and the long-handled shovels were used to push the boat back into deeper water.

The sun was only a small red ball bobbing on the horizon when at last they came close to Grimsfell. Surrounded by marshy fenlands, bogs and quagmires, the island rose steeply from one small half-circle of solid ground, where trees and bushes grew in a tangle. A few broken walls and doorways showed the ruin of what once must have been a village. Peregrine saw the bare boughs of apple trees, the pale drooping catkins of a hazel tree, and the tangled hoops of blackberry brambles. At either end of the beach were two huge boulders carved into the shape of a woman standing upon a striped archway.

‘Taramis, the goddess of the rainbow and the bridge between worlds,' Peregrine said. ‘I wonder why someone
would put a statue of her here, so far from anywhere. They look very old'.

‘They mark the beginning of the road,' Molly said.

‘The road?'

‘Yes. A causeway once led straight through the marshes to Grimsfell. The Count of Ardian built it when the starkin first came a-marching into the fenlands. Grimsfell is the biggest island in the fens, you see, and the count thought to use it. Yet none of the hearthkin would ever stay here. They were afraid, you see, of Old Grim'.

Peregrine nodded in understanding.

Molly went on, ‘But when the prince woke Old Grim and took him away, people thought it'd be safe. They came and built this village and carved those statues to guard and protect the road. For a while it all flourished. But then Old Grim came back and put a blight on the place, and everyone fled. The village fell into ruin and the road with it. And then my da broke the dykes and flooded the marsh again and the causeway was drowned. It'll still be there, though, under the water'.

There was a grating noise from the bottom of the boat.

‘I think we might've just hit it,' Jack said with a grin. He poked overboard with one of the long-handled shovels and knocked on stone.

‘I'm not sure we'll get any closer,' Molly said. ‘The bogs are very treacherous around Grimsfell. That's why they built the causeway. We can probably wade ashore from here'.

‘But our feet will get wet,' Grizelda objected.

‘Never mind,' Molly said. ‘We'll take off our boots and stockings and carry them, and then light a fire. I can make us some hot soup, we'll soon get warm again'.

‘Eel soup, I bet,' Grizelda muttered but took off her boots—shiny
crimson once more—and looped up her skirt so her legs were bare. Peregrine unhooded Blitz and flung him into the air, and he soared far above them, his wings bent and black against the red-streaked sky. Jack dropped anchor—a boulder tied with rope—and then the four of them waded to shore through the icy water, their boots in their hands. The water was so shallow that it scarcely lapped at their ankles.

‘It's too late to do anything now,' Grizelda said. ‘Let's make that fire and have something to eat'.

Peregrine hardly heard her. He was staring at the narrow grey stone on the peak of the hill. At the base of the rock grew the oak tree, its broad, knobbly branches as thick as a strong man's torso, its ancient trunk wide enough to hide a draught horse. Long ago it had been cleaved in two by lightning. The few ragged brown leaves which clung to its branches showed the tree still lived, as did the great cluster of golden-green leaves hanging high in the heavy boughs, dangling small white berries.

‘I can't believe we've found it,' he whispered. ‘I can't believe we're actually here'.

He bent and hastily dragged his stockings and boots onto his wet, cold feet. ‘Come on! Let's go and take a look'.

He bounded up the path, Jack at once close behind. Molly dropped the heavy pot and the sack of food and limped after them, finding it hard to manage the narrow rocky path with her crutch. Grizelda sighed, rolled her eyes and charged after them, pushing past Molly so she could catch up with the boys.

It was a hard slog and Molly's hip was aching by the time she reached the top. She paused to catch her breath and surreptitiously rub her hip. She looked up at the grey fang of rock looming above her, sharp against the darkening clouds. From the base of the rock ran the stony path of an old
dried-up stream. Molly could see from the mosses on the rock where the spring must once have run.

‘Here, Molly!' Peregrine cried.

He and Jack and Grizelda were all perched on the low, broad branches of the oak tree, gazing out at the view. Blitz crouched above them, his feathers ruffling in the cold wind. Whining, Oskar was standing on his hind legs, his paws up on the tree trunk as if wishing he could climb up and be with his mistress. Molly went to join them. She could not climb the tree but she leant against its ancient fissured trunk and looked out at the fenlands. As far as the eye could see, the peat-bogs stretched, a crazy pattern of mud and reeds and grasses, with the occasional winding snake of shining water, a few crooked trees holding up stiff, cold branches against the sky.

‘He was here,' Peregrine said. ‘Prince Zander, I mean. He came here with the spear and he banged it three times against the stone and roused Lord Grim. Then, as Lord Grim emerged from under the hill, the soldiers seized him and bound him with bells. Then Prince Zander mocked Princess Shoshanna and told her that he'd make sure her prophecy never came true. And then he threw the spear into the bog. He was fat and lazy. He can't have thrown it very far. Maybe a hundred steps'.

He stared out at the bog, his hands clenched into fists. Mist swirled about the bases of all the trees, making their branches look like black skeletal fingers. Birds called eerily. The sun slid further behind the horizon, and at once it grew colder and darker. Molly shivered, her feet like lumps of ice in her damp boots.

‘How do you know all this?' Grizelda demanded.

‘I've seen it in the Well of Fates,' Peregrine said. ‘The Erlrune showed me. I wanted to know what had happened
to the spear. He threw it that way'. He pointed towards the west, where the mud and marsh seemed thickest. ‘I'll find it tomorrow,' he said, utter conviction in his voice.

‘I'm cold,' Grizelda said. ‘Let's go down and get that fire started'.

Peregrine helped her jump from the tree and then they scrambled back down the path to the beach below. Molly found it hard going but, to her secret pleasure, Peregrine stayed back and helped her down some of the rougher patches.

‘Let's get that fire going!' Jack said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Brrr, but it's cold!'

‘We'll need a lot of firewood if we're to stay warm all night,' Grizelda said. ‘It's bound to be damp and misty'.

Molly's heart sank. Her hip was hurting so much she wasn't sure she could walk on it much longer, let alone go scrambling about looking for kindling. Peregrine must have sensed her dismay, for he said, ‘How about you and Jack go and get it, Grizelda? I'll get the fire started here so Molly can begin to make supper'.

Grizelda's lips narrowed and she cast Molly an angry glance, before stamping across the clearing and into the undergrowth, Oskar bounding beside her. Jack went the other way, leaving Molly and Peregrine alone on the shingle. Peregrine called Blitz down and tied his jesses to a branch, slipping the leather hood over the falcon's fierce, bright eyes so he would rest and be still.

‘Here, this'll make a good table,' Peregrine said then, slapping a broad, flat rock. ‘If you sit here, you can start preparing supper'. He pulled a smaller rock over and settled it so Molly could sit down. ‘I can make a fire quickly enough. Just so we can get supper on. There's plenty of kindling about'.

The prince busied himself gathering twigs and rushes and breaking a dead branch over his knee while Molly lowered herself down awkwardly. She was glad he had not mentioned anything about her hip. Molly hated anyone to make a fuss of it, liking to pretend she was as agile and capable as everyone else. She opened her sack and drew out some leeks, a bunch of smoked haddocks, some rashers of streaky bacon wrapped in cloth, a bunch of withered purple carrots, and a small crock of dripping. She drew her knife and began to roughly chop the leeks and carrots.

Within minutes, the prince had a crackling fire going.

‘Do you need water?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘Don't fill it from the marsh, though; the water will make us all sick. There should be a well here somewhere'.

Peregrine found the well easily enough, and lowered the iron pot down on a rope to fill it. Soon it was boiling away merrily on the fire. Molly threw in the ingredients and then bent to draw off her boots and stockings, putting her icy feet close to the flames to warm up. Peregrine came to sit beside her, feeding the flames with handfuls of dry moss and driftwood.

‘I've made you something,' she said shyly. Sliding one hand into her pocket, she drew out a ring made from bog-oak and passed it to him. It had been carved into the shape of a small shield, with a bird etched upon it, wings spread.

Peregrine bent his head over it. ‘You made it from that piece of driftwood you found on my birthday,' he said in delight, sliding the ring onto his finger. It fitted perfectly. ‘What's the design? It looks like some kind of bird'.

‘It's a phoenix a-rising from flames. You know, like what you said to the council. That we should all put aside our old emblems and make a new one, a symbol of the new land that
will be born out of the ashes of this one. I thought you could use it as a seal ring. You, know when you are king'. Her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Molly stopped talking and ducked her head.

‘I see, it's been carved in relief. That's why it took me a moment to recognise the design. I'll get a candle out of my pack so we can try it out'. Eagerly Peregrine pulled his pack towards him and rummaged through it until he found the stump of a candle. He lit it, then dribbled a small blob of wax onto a scrap of parchment. He then pressed the face of the ring into the wax. When he drew it away, there was the perfect impression of a phoenix rising from flames.

‘It's beautiful!' he said. ‘Thank you so much!'

He seized her hand and drew her forward so he could kiss her cheek, then sat back on his heels, studying the bog-oak ring with delight. Molly turned back to her pot, feeling the warmth from his kiss spread all the way down her body to her bare toes.

‘What's all this?' Grizelda demanded stridently. She stood just outside the circle of firelight, her arms filled with kindling, her narrowed gaze moving from Peregrine's face to Molly's. Oskar stood beside her, hackles raised.

‘Look what Molly made for me!' Peregrine cried, getting to his feet. ‘It's a seal ring with a phoenix carved on it. Isn't she clever? And it's made from bog-oak, the same wood that the fen-men's brooches are made from. It's hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old. It's a symbol of the new order. When I am king I shall seal every new law and proclamation with it, and when I do, I shall always think of Molly of the Marshes, who made it for me'. He smiled brilliantly at Molly, who blushed even redder and turned away, pretending
to look for something in her sack, so no-one would see her face.

‘Lovely,' Grizelda said flatly and dumped her load, practically on top of Molly's bare feet. ‘Always assuming that you can find the spear, rouse the boo-bogey, vanquish all of the queen's armies and seize the throne'.

The light went out of Peregrine's face. ‘I can but try,' he said quietly. He bent and drew a small silver bowl out of his pack. ‘I'll look now and see if I can discover where the spear is. I'll never be able to sleep otherwise. Then I can go and retrieve it early in the morning'.

He filled the bowl with water and then sat cross-legged on the shingle, staring into the glinting liquid. ‘What is lost must now be found, take my luck and turn it round, show me the vanished spear, let my vision be clear,' he intoned. His expression changed, growing more intent, then triumph and gladness flowered. ‘I know where it is! I know exactly where it is! I need to dig, though, it's buried down in the peat'. He looked up, grinning broadly, and emptied the water over his shoulder.

‘I have a scraw-cutter on the boat,' Molly said eagerly. ‘That's a special spade for cutting down through the peat'.

‘You should have brought it,' Grizelda said in an accusing voice. ‘Robin will want to dig up his spear first thing, won't you, Robin?' She smiled at him, looking quite dazzling pretty, and he smiled back.