The Unknown Spy (17 page)

“Bit of a giveaway,” he admitted with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Toxique gave a shrug. “He won’t accept me until I carry out an assassination. He told me once that my granddad did the same to him when he was young.”

“We won’t worry about that for now,” Les said. “We’ve got a killer to catch.”

“Knutt and Toxique,” Blackpitt announced, “when you are finished with rescuing visitors from deadly toxins, please get yourself to Inks class, where no doubt latecomers will be suitably punished.”

THE KINGDOM

T
he passage wound upward into the mountains for what felt like miles. Danny’s calves ached with the climb. Flickering torches hung on the walls at intervals, but between them it was dark, and he had slipped and fallen several times. He ran over his new identity in his head. He was there to study the history of the Lower World. They had decided that Dixie would pretend to be a student of the treaty. That way she could ask to see the Treaty Stone.

If the other team hasn’t broken it already, Danny thought.

Suddenly he felt a strange sensation in his head, as if, for a moment, his thoughts were not quite his own. He brushed it off and continued doggedly, but the feeling persisted. Not that someone was trying to get into his
head, but that they were thinking about him, and in doing so had connected with him in some way.

He remembered the time he had joined the Ring of Five, how he could feel and hear the thoughts of other members of the Ring in his head. This was a little like that, only very far away. As if someone was trying desperately to find out what was happening wherever Danny was. Longford. It was him! The very second he thought of the name the sensation vanished, as if Longford had sensed Danny’s awareness and removed himself. And yet in his eagerness he had left something of himself behind in Danny’s mind—more than he had intended. A part of his thinking, like a lingering scent. Danny stopped dead.

“What?” Dixie grabbed his arm. If Longford’s thought was a scent, then there would be a foul undertone to it. Danny shook his head to show that he was all right, but fear swept over him. For he knew, from the fragment that Longford had left behind, that a trap had been prepared for him in the kingdom of Morne. He searched his mind for Longford’s thought, but it was gone.

“Do your worst, Longford,” he murmured to himself, but the brave words were lost in the cold damp tunnel as he resumed his climb.

A
fter another half hour earth and stone underfoot became paving, and the rough stone walls gave way to smooth limestone with paintings and tapestries hung every few yards. More passages ran off on either side. From some,
rich scents drifted; from others came snatches of voices or music. Ahead of Dixie, Danny and Macari stood two young men elegantly dressed in embroidered doublets and hose. They were absorbed in whispered conversation, and when they saw the small party approaching they gathered up their cloaks, pulled the hoods over their heads and hurried off in opposite directions.

The corridors widened, their ceilings lost in the dark. Small groups of people stood in opulent rooms off the corridor, many turning their faces away as the trio approached. The women wore silk dresses, the men velvet tunics and hose. Both men and women had powdered wigs.

“What’s going on?” Dixie said. “Why is everybody standing around acting secretive? Has something happened?”

Macari turned with a grin.

“No, nothing’s happened. Morne is always like this, full of scheming and gossiping and trying to catch the eye of the vizier and the court. No one trusts anyone else. They’re always trying to do each other down. Treacherous as sin, the whole lot of them, and the more charming they are, the worse they get.”

Danny remembered the hot irons in Macari’s hand and thought, I don’t trust you either.

“Now,” Macari went on, “orders are that you’re to be presented to the vizier and the court. It’s an honor accorded to all visitors—not that there are many.”

“Who’s the vizier?” Danny asked.

“The vizier is the Supreme Authority, Lord of Lords, Master of All Domains Pertaining To and Congruent
With the Realm and Kingdom of Morne, Lord High Protector and Beloved—”

“He’s got a lot of names,” Dixie said.

“Seven hundred,” Macari told them. “Takes a good two hours every Saturday to get through them before the Royal Bath, which is followed by the Royal Nap and then the Royal Tea.…”

“We get the picture,” Danny said hastily. Macari came to a halt in front of a set of enormous doors covered in gold leaf. Two spear-carrying soldiers in golden armor glared at them. From a small kiosk beside the doors a rotund man in a scarlet robe emerged. He was holding a clipboard.

“Let me see,” he said, turning a lively if careworn face toward them. “This can’t be the delegation from the lower tower or the petitioners from the Southward Gallery, or the keyholders guild of the Keepers of Secrets.”

“We’re students,” Danny said, “from the Lower World.”

“This is Noinrum Camroc,” Macari said, “Master of Ceremonies and Etiquettes, Songbird of the North, Holder of the Divine Flute—”

“Does everybody have such long names?” Dixie asked.

“We’ll dispense with titles since they’re from the somewhat … er … lax Lower World,” Camroc said. “We’ll just have time for the formalities before the evening ceremonies begin.”

He turned to the golden doors and rapped sharply three times with the golden flute he carried on a chain at
his waist. The doors were flung open on a high-ceilinged room dimly lit by great candelabra. Danny saw tapestries, banners, the glint of gold. There were many people in the room, all sumptuously dressed. The people were gathered in knots in various parts of the room, scheming and conspiring, the men glancing around before leaning forward to whisper in a companion’s ear, the women hiding their mouths behind fans as they exchanged gossip.

All eyes turned toward the door as Camroc led Danny and Dixie in, and whispered comments followed in their wake: “What are they wearing?” “Is that the best the Upper World has to offer?” “They could at least wash themselves properly before meeting the vizier.”

“Why do they hate us?” Dixie said.

“They’re jealous,” Camroc said. “Some of them could wait years for the opportunity of being presented to the vizier, and here you are, just walking in off the street, so to speak, and being brought straight to him.”

Danny felt his mind coldly roam over the assembled throng. Without even thinking about it he was weighing up the alliances, the intrigues, the treacheries. The part of him that wanted to spy on others, to betray, was drawn to the faithless crowd. He took a deep breath and tried to shut out the whispers.

They drew near to a great dais. The shadows grew darker. Candles flickered in the gloom; groups of men and women parted, then closed behind them. Suddenly, without ceremony, they found themselves in front of not the gorgeous throne that Danny had expected, but a wooden chair with arms carved in the shape of ravens’ heads. Nor
was the man sitting on the chair what Danny had expected, a proud ruler in fine robes. The vizier was an ordinary-looking man with gray-flecked brown hair and shrewd eyes, simply dressed in plain black hose and tunic.

“Welcome, young scholars,” he said quietly. “It is many years since we have had students from the Lower World, so it is doubly gratifying to have two parties at the same time.”

Danny had the uncomfortable feeling that the man knew exactly why both parties were here, and he had to force himself to meet the vizier’s steady gaze.

“You and your fellow scholars have picked very serious subjects,” the vizier went on, “and I have thought long and hard about how to make your studies a little more interesting for you. I decided that a little competition might add to your pleasure.”

There was a murmur of approval from the courtiers.

“The winners will be given access to Morne forever as our guests. Now,” the vizier said, “it is time for the newcomers to meet their rivals.”

Danny looked up. He had not seen the two figures standing in the gloom behind the vizier’s chair.

“Step forward,” the vizier commanded. The smaller of the two was a Cherb; his features—the pixielike ears and dark hair, one blue eye and one brown—were unmistakably those of the deadly enemies of Wilsons. The Cherb boy looked at Danny with a mixture of malice and amusement. The taller figure was a girl. Her black hair hung down her back. He face was long and fine-boned and her eyes were a cold, piercing blue, but her smile was
shy and a little uncertain. She turned to the vizier. Her voice was low and husky.

“May I ask a question, my lord vizier?”

“Of course.”

“You mentioned the reward for the winners of the competition. But you did not mention what will happen to the losers.”

“The losers?” The vizier smiled. “A good question. I don’t think a competition is any good unless there is a good prize. Equally, I think there must be some real jeopardy for the losers. So the unsuccessful candidate or candidates will stay here to serve in the shadows.”

“What does that mean?” Danny said as Dixie gulped beside him.

“As the living have servants, so do the dead.” The man’s tone was light, but his eyes were dark and burning.

“That seems fair,” the girl said calmly. “And what is the nature of the test?”

“It is simple. You merely have to find out what the mountains say.” They all looked at him blankly. What did the question mean? How could the mountains say anything?

There was another murmur of approval from the bystanders and some applause.

“They’re not clapping because it’s an easy task,” Dixie said sourly. The black-haired girl stepped forward.

“My name is Lily,” she said, putting out her hand to Danny.

“Danny,” he said. Her grip was firm and her look
direct. He felt, strangely, that she was not necessarily the enemy just because she had been sent by the Ring.

“Come, Lily,” the Cherb boy growled, “they’ll be bait for the dead by time we finish.”

“You can rest tonight and begin in the morning,” the vizier said smoothly. “You may use fair means or foul; you may use guile or be plainspoken. The choice is yours. There is nowhere in the kingdom closed to you, but you may find that people defend their territory jealously.”

M
acari brought them to a comfortable room with two beds off a main corridor. As in the rest of the building, the furniture was ornate and there were silken hangings on the walls. Dixie threw herself down on one bed while Danny explored the room.

“Look!” he exclaimed, pulling back the curtains to show two great French doors that opened onto a balcony. They stepped out and looked at the snow-covered mountainsides, the great peaks rearing above them, the lower slopes lying under the moonlight far below. They stood there for several minutes, lost in the cold beauty of the landscape.

The kingdom of Morne was all about them—a series of linked castles and keeps and towers, spreading up the mountain as far as they could see. Dixie shivered.

“I don’t trust one brick of this place. I wish I was back in Wilsons.”

Danny knew what she meant. Wilsons could be
strange and tricky, but it was homey, and you had the feeling that, for most of the time, anyway, people were on your side.

“We need to find the Treaty Stone and get out of here,” Danny said.

“There’s the challenge as well,” Dixie said. “Forgot that already? I don’t fancy ending up as a servant of the dead.”

She disappeared in a way that managed to be moody, and a minute later Danny heard water running in the bathroom. When she reappeared abruptly a few minutes later she was wearing a silk nightdress that shimmered as she moved.

“There’s a pair of gold pj’s in there for you as well,” she said with a tired grin. She clambered into bed and within seconds was asleep.

Danny’s mind was racing, however, and sleep felt a long way off. He stayed out on the balcony. The cold air seared his lungs. The kingdom before him was beautiful, there was no arguing, but it was treacherous.

He saw a flicker of movement at the far end of the valley and narrowed his eyes. A small black shape was just visible against the mountain, moving swiftly toward him. A raven! The bird flew fast and high without deviating until it reached the first turret of Morne; then it dipped and turned right so that it was flying along the façade. It passed right in front of him, then slowed, coming to a rest on a balcony about a hundred meters away. It cocked its head to one side and peered down.

It’s trying to show me something, Danny thought. He
followed the direction of the raven’s head. From the balcony below the bird, a small figure dressed in black jumped lightly onto the parapet, then leapt to the next balcony down. It was the Cherb boy. The raven looked back up at Danny. He realized it wanted him to follow. With a quick glance at the sleeping Dixie, Danny pulled his trench coat tightly around him and slipped over the parapet, swinging his legs inward so that he landed on the next balcony down. As he did so, the dark figure reached the ground.

I
t was easier than it looked to climb down the front of the building using the balconies. People were still awake in some of the rooms, and once, Danny had to crouch, not breathing, while on the adjoining balcony an unseen couple spoke together in whispers.