The Tower of Ravens (49 page)

Felice shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I think so. I mean, I was asleep. She woke me a few times, thrashing round and calling out. She thought she saw a ghost standing over us.”

“Delirious,” Edithe said.

“People have rotten dreams when they’re sick,” Landon said defensively. “And we’ve heard so many terrible stories since we came here. I dreamt o‘ ghostly boys too, last night.”

“Dreams can seem very real sometimes,” Iven said comfortingly. “Especially when ye’ve got a fever.”

“No‘ a dream,” Rhiannon said angrily. She unwrapped her shawl. “Look at my nightgown! Would it be this dirty if I had no’ been crawling around in the mud in it?”

Cameron sniggered, and Rhiannon felt blood surge up her face.

“Walking in her sleep?” Edithe hazarded.

“No, walking awake! The laddie came and took me to his room, and showed me all the dead boys. He wants me to help them.”

“Och, sure, indeed,” Cameron said. “He came to ye. Why no‘ Nina, or Iven, I wonder?”

“Because I can see him, I think,” Rhiannon said flatly, and sat down abruptly. She clenched her hands together to hide their trembling.

There was a well of silence, and Rhiannon spoke into it, trying to choose her words with care. “I was frightened. I ran away. I saw light coming from the laird’s library. I went down. There’s some kind o‘ hidden doorway in the bookcase. It leads to a hall between the walls. I followed it. It goes to the auld Tower. They were there, the nine people in hoods. Chanting. They killed a rooster.”

“Indeed?” Nina said, exchanging glances with Iven.

Rhiannon was encouraged. She tried to remember more details to tell. “One o‘ them whipped the laird all bloody. The whip has nine… what would you call them? Strings?”

“A cat o‘ nine tails,” Lewen exclaimed.

Rhiannon was puzzled. “Nay, no cat. A whip.”

“A whip with nine thongs is called a cat o‘ nine tails. I dinna ken why. Happen because it makes the victim yowl like a cat.”

“The laird did no‘ yowl. He dinna make a noise. It must’ve hurt, though, for his back was all bloody.”

“Ye are sure it was the laird?” Edithe asked, scandalised.

“I did no‘ see his face, he had his back to me. But he had no beard, and when he spoke it sounded like the laird. And I’m sure he called the ghost ’brother‘.”

“Which ghost?” Edithe said. “Ye’ve seen so many it’s hard to keep track.”

Rhiannon stared at her in cold, white anger. “The first ghost to come, the one they seek to bring back from the dead. He called him ‘Falkner’, and then ‘brother and laird o’ Fettercairn.‘ He is the same ghost as I saw in the great hall last night, the one that was killed by the young, rough-looking man. They chanted these words, I dinna remember what, and then he just sort o’… floated out o‘ the shadows.”

“Laird Malvern wants to resurrect his brother? But he died so long ago,” Nina said.

“Twenty-five years they’ve been trying to bring him back to life. I heard them say so.”

“Twenty-five years?” Iven repeated thoughtfully. Cameron went to say something and the jongleur shushed him with an upraised hand. Rhiannon went on wearily.

“They are the ones that have been messing with all the dead people, digging them up and trying to learn how to make them come alive again. He said so, I heard him. And killing people, experimenting with them.”

“How awful,” Landon said, whey-faced. Maisie gave a little moan and raised one hand to her bandaged head.

“Then the other ghost came, the woman. She mocked them for standing on a heart o‘ stars and calling the dead. They were all frightened o’ her. She said she would tell them the secret o‘ raising the dead if they promised to raise her first.”

“Indeed?” Nina said again, exchanging an incredulous glance with Lewen.

“Gracious, ye canna believe her?” Edithe burst out. “Look at her, she’s sick as a dog. She canna even stand. How can ye believe such things o‘ our host? He was a most charming and cultured man, and she’s accusing him o’ necromancy, and torture, and murder most foul. She must be mad!”

“She’s been seeing ghosts everywhere,” Cameron said, and Rafferty gave an unhappy murmur of agreement.

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Rhiannon said thickly.

There was silence. She saw Edithe roll up her eyes and gritted her teeth together, her eyes burning with tears. She looked defiantly at Nina. “Do ye believe me? Or do ye think it’s just a dream too?”

Nina chose her words with care. “I do no‘ ken, Rhiannon. It’s true ye are sick and shaking with fever, and dreams are often more vivid when ye’re feverish, but even so, dreams can be true sendings at times. And though I do no’ see the ghosts ye’ve seen, that does no‘ mean they are no’ there. I have felt troubled and uneasy since I came into this castle, and have fancied I’ve seen curtains lift when there is no breeze, or heard voices crying in the night. Happen ye have the gift o‘ clear-seeing, more strongly than any o’ us. I do no‘ ken what to do, though. This needs investigation. Edithe is right. These are serious allegations. I would no’ like to accuse a man o‘ necromancy and murder without strong evidence. And my heart misgives me greatly, for if your dream be true…”

“It was no‘ a dream,” Rhiannon said stubbornly.

Nina went on as if she had not spoken. “… then we may be in grave danger. I wish we had never come this way, but since we did, and we are here in Fettercairn Castle, I think we should do our best to leave as quickly as we can. This is a matter for the Rìgh’s men to investigate. We must try to send him a message now, just as soon as we can, for if Rhiannon is right then we are in a trap and may have trouble getting out o‘ it. Iven, why do ye no’ take the boys and go and inspect this damage to the road? See if we canna make our way past it, even if it means leaving the caravans.”

Iven nodded. “Good idea.”

“Rhiannon, my dear, go back to bed, please. The sooner ye are well again, the sooner we can go. Lassies, I think we should go and see what we can find out. If Rhiannon is right, then the castle is the source o‘ all the evil and trouble in this valley and the Rìgh will need to ken o’ it.”

Nina’s voice was coming in waves, loud, soft, then strangely loud again. Rhiannon felt warm hands on her arms and looked up, her head feeling heavy and large on a thin, weak neck. Lewen bent over her. She looked up into his face and, to her surprise, tears sprang from her eyes.

“Come on,
leannan
,” he said softly. “Ye should be in bed.”

“Do ye believe me?” she whispered urgently, fixing her eyes on his.

He nodded, and gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. “O‘ course I do. Come, let me get ye to bed.”

He bent and gathered her up into his arms. Rhiannon was too tired to argue. She put her arms about his neck, rested her head on his shoulder, and let him carry her from the room.

Cold Comfort

When Lewen came out of Rhiannon’s room, it was to find the maid Wilma hovering in the corridor, her ear bent to the door into Nina and Iven’s suite. She started at the sound of his step and moved hurriedly away.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped, twisting her apron in her hands. “I’ve been sent to wake ye all and bring ye down to breakfast. I dinna ken if Master Irving warned ye… I ken it is early… I dinna want to intrude…”

“It is early,” Lewen agreed. “It’s barely cockcrow.”

“My laird likes to rise early,” she said. “I was worried… I ken it is no‘ what is done at court, dining so early, I mean, but my laird does hate anyone being late.”

“Does he?” Lewen said genially. “I imagine no-one dares ever keep him waiting then.”

“Oh, no, sir,” she breathed.

“Well, witches rise early too,” Lewen said cheerfully, “so we are all awake.”

“Och, so it’s true then!” she blurted and then turned crimson. “About ye all being witches, I mean. I didna believe it. I mean, ye all seem so nice, and my laird has let ye all stay and…” Her words trailed away.

“No‘ all o’ us are witches,” Lewen said. “Most o‘ us are mere apprentices. Why, does my laird no’ care for the Coven?”

“Oh, no, sir,” she said in surprise. “Why, he used to hunt witches down and burn them, my da told me!”

“Is that so?” Lewen said, turning his head to stare at her.

Immediately Wilma was thrown into confusion. “ ‘Twas a long time ago… times change, they say… I dinna ken if it be true…”

“Times do change, and we must change with them,” Lewen said, with no change to his affable manner. His veins were swelling with rage, though, and it took an effort to keep his voice steady.

Wilma looked at him doubtfully. “Yes, sir.”

“Is that tea I see there on your tray?” Lewen gestured to the laden tray on the hall table. “Ye’ll be welcome at any hour if ye bring Nina tea. Come, bring it in, and tell us where we are to go for breakfast and when.”

“I’ll show ye all down,” Wilma said. “Master Irving said I was no‘ to let any o’ ye go wandering off by yourselves. In case ye get lost, I mean.”

“O‘ course,” Lewen said, opening the door for her. She picked up the heavy tray with a visible effort and carried it in, staring at Nina with apprehensive eyes as if suddenly expecting her to have sprouted horns and a tail.

Nina was sitting wearily by the fire, Roden on her lap, while the other apprentices were still all heatedly discussing Rhiannon’s news. Nina was not listening to them, but was staring into the flames as if their ephemeral, many-tongued shapes could speak to her. She was so entranced she did not notice Wilma at first, but as silence fell, she glanced round and smiled and thanked her.

Wilma poured the tea, Lewen and Landon helping pass the cups around, and then she said diffidently that she would be back in an hour to take them down to the breakfast hall.

“Is that a different hall to where we ate last night? Thank Eà! I do no‘ think I could manage to eat a mouthful if I had to do so under the gaze o’ all those poor slaughtered animals,” Nina said.

Wilma gave a shy smile of sympathy. “I do no‘ like them much either,” she admitted. “Us maids hate having to clean the dining hall late at night. Their eyes gleam so, it looks like they’re still alive.”

“Does the laird eat there every night? I wonder he does no‘ suffer indigestion!”

“My laird likes such things,” Wilma said. “He has a whole stuffed bear in his library, and drawers and cabinets full o‘ strange things—a webbed hand and the head o’ an ogre, and a braid o‘ witch’s hair, and the jaw o’ a dragon, and the skin o‘ one o’ the sea-folk, and a pickled baby—”