The Whisperer (14 page)

‘Tyren won’t want a repeat performance,’ she tried to assure him.

‘Who knows what he’ll want? He has no idea of how this skill works. He doesn’t seem to grasp that I can’t pick and choose what people think. The only thing I can do is block it out as best I can. He wants me to open myself up to it. I swear it will kill me and if he persists, it could well destroy his business.’

‘So you’re running away, using this stranger as your excuse.’

‘No, I was going to leave anyway and I offered to take you with me. I want you and the creatures to come. The Whisperer just gives me purpose now.’

That came out badly and he could see how it hurt Tess to hear his words.

‘Listen, Tess. I won’t leave without you. Come with me. I have to leave but you have no reason to remain.’

‘Other than staying out of the orphanage, you mean?’

‘If we keep on the move he can’t find us.’

‘What makes you think he won’t set the Stalkers on us? He’s losing two of his newest and what he believes will be his most popular acts. Do you really think Tyren isn’t going to give chase?’

Griff knew she was right. ‘How much did you cost him?’

‘Five gold shards.’

‘Five?’ Griff blew out his cheeks. It was not a significant amount of money in truth but it was not the sort of money he could hope to earn in a hurry. Short of stealing it, he couldn’t imagine how to lay his hands on that much.

‘Still want me running away with you?’ she asked and he couldn’t miss the bitter note in her voice.

‘We go together and we’re taking the creatures with us,’ Griff assured her.

‘How?’

Before he could say anything more a young lad came scurrying up. He was one of the many five- and six-year-olds that were too young to work other than doing routine fetching and carrying and delivering general messages. This was one of Tyren’s runners.

‘Pak, are you looking for me?’ Griff asked.

The small, wide-eyed boy nodded. ‘Master Tyren wants to see you,’ he said. ‘You have to come now.’

‘Here we go,’ Griff said to Tess, looking miserable.

‘I’ll wait here,’ she said. ‘Don’t let him even get an inkling of what you’re thinking,’ she whispered.

Even without magic Griff could hear the worry in her mind that she wasn’t sharing with him.

He grinned at her words in an effort to reassure his friend. ‘The magic fortunately doesn’t work both ways. Explain everything to Davren. Listen to what he has to say. Trust him.’

She nodded. ‘I always do.’

‘Come on, Pak, I’ll race you back,’ Griff said.

Lute was too frightened to pick his way to The Shepherd’s Rest, figuring that this was likely to be the inn where his attackers would head with his gold for the comfortable beds they were boasting about. He hated this feeling of fear and despised himself for behaving so helplessly.

But he was injured and couldn’t remain here for the night. Mercifully the pain had lessened and he didn’t think he’d broken anything, although he suspected a rib was cracked and that would slow him down. But that pain was nothing in comparison to the deep agony he felt over losing Bruno. He fully intended to get the horse back—even if he had to buy him—but right now he needed shelter, a place to think.

An owl hooted mournfully overhead in the trees and reminded him this was now the time for nocturnal creatures to be abroad and not thirteen-year-olds, alone and injured. Lute pulled himself to his feet, grimacing at the sharp pain that knifed through his side again. It still hurt to breathe. His father’s kind face swam into his thoughts and then he imagined his mother’s worried expression. But it was Pilo’s voice in his mind that made him rally his courage. It didn’t take much for him to know precisely what Pilo would want of him now. Pilo was strong, always brave. He would urge

Lute to ignore the pain, banish the fear, act like the son of a king. Lute nodded to himself.
I’m a royal
, he thought. He imagined how Pilo would respond…
So start acting like one.

Griff was standing in Master Tyren’s spacious wagon, awaiting the showmaster’s attention, which was currently focused on counting out coins in front of Chauncey.

‘Here, give it all to them!’ he said with disgust. ‘They’ll be back for more, I guarantee it, and we’ll charge twice as much.’ He sneered at Chauncey to be on his way.

Tyren turned and regarded Griff, who was doing his utmost not to fidget. He could sense the showmaster’s anger but, curiously, it was not directed at him. The thoughts he was picking up were more about the aggravation of having to give anyone their money back, for Tyren was a tight-fisted manager.

‘Evening, Griff,’ the man said and threw down a shot glass of curaj.

Griff nodded. ‘Master Tyren. You asked to see me.’

‘I did and I’m sure you know why.’

‘Yes, sir, I do.’ Suddenly he found himself gabbling. ‘I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I did try to warn you, Master Tyren, and it’s not that I want to upset your customers or yourself, but you need to understand that this strange skill of mine—’

‘Stop!’

He did, unsure of what to do. Griff stared blankly at Tyren and in that second of silence, where his mind felt suddenly empty, he heard a voice whisper through his mind and it said:
I’m a royal.

The dizziness was back. He was sure he was swaying on his feet but Tyren clearly wasn’t noticing. Griff took a steadying breath.

‘Just stop talking at me, boy,’ Tyren roared. ‘I’m not sorry at all about what happened.’

Caught in the shock of the Whisperer’s words and Tyren’s, Griff blinked twice, slowly, not at all sure that he had heard anything right. He was fighting the feeling of light-headedness and the lack of sense in Tyren’s words.

‘Pardon?’ he stammered.

The showmaster noticed none of the confusion. ‘What happened was amazing, Griff my boy.’

Now Griff was confused. Thoughts crowded in and voices were back to muddle him. He could no longer hear the Whisperer and he had to throw up the familiar guards around his mind to do his best to block out all the usual noise.

‘I don’t understand,’ he managed.

‘Let me spell it out for you, boy. You are going to make us a lot of money. We won’t be doing any more public shows, though—no, lad, too dangerous, as we discovered to our cost. Instead, you’ll give private audiences only. I plan to charge a silver for someone to have you sit with them—in your own tent, mind—and tell them what they’re thinking.’ He tapped his nose, a cunning smile stretching across his mouth. ‘Or what someone else is thinking.’

Griff felt freshly sickened. Was this really happening? ‘Master Tyren,’ he spluttered, ‘We can’t do this any more. It’s not fair—’

‘Not fair to whom?’ the showmaster bellowed. ‘To you?’

Griff nodded, panic-stricken.

Tyren laughed. A full-throated, belly-wobbling laugh. ‘I don’t care,’ he finally said and the tone of his voice assured Griff that he should make no mistake about this. ‘It is of no matter to me whether you like what you do. Your job is to work for me. I paid your father for you three boys on the understanding that you would all perform publicly if and when I chose. He accepted that term on your behalf. I’m afraid he effectively sold you to me.’

It was like a slap in the face to Griff. He had never seen it this way. Encouraging the boys to join the Travelling Show was his father’s way of giving his sons a future, a chance to make something of themselves or at least earn a living from an honest day’s work.

‘Now you can either pay me back the money I gave your father—and it is no small sum—or you can work for your keep, young Griff. And I decide how you work. Until yesterday it was as a grunter but now I want you to put that magical mind
of yours to good use and earn gold for us. I’ve already said I shall increase your wages to reflect my appreciation of your talents.’

‘How much did you pay our father, Master Tyren?’ Griff asked.

This seemed to surprise the showmaster. ‘Well, I shall have to check my records but I seem to recall I paid a gold piece for you and three each for your brothers. Your father must be living like a king! That’s seven shards, in case you can’t add, Griff.’

‘I can count,’ he said, coldly, hating Tyren now for making him feel like a bought slave and his father a greedy profiteer.

‘Then you’ll know that’s a large sum of money.’

‘How much do you plan to pay me for this new job?’ Griff asked.

That seemed to stop Tyren in his tracks. His chins shook. ‘Well, I haven’t considered that yet.’

‘You’ll need to think about it, Master Tyren, because I plan to earn my freedom.’

At this the showmaster scoffed. ‘That will take a long time.’

‘Not if you pay me properly and I won’t do it unless you pay properly. You can’t make me do this, you know.’

‘Well,’ Tyren began, scratching his chin. ‘I can make your life miserable in the meantime. I can certainly find ways to punish your brothers for your lack of cooperation and that friendship that you’ve so rapidly developed with young Tess, that could all come crashing down if I start to make life difficult for her.’

There was the threat again. Now Griff knew he had to get away from here…tonight.

‘I understand,’ he said, adding, ‘when is my next performance, Master Tyren?’ He was careful to keep his voice even.

The man smiled. ‘I knew you’d see reason. Tomorrow night. We’ll be at Monkton Green. Word will spread ahead of us of your amazing powers. I’m expecting quite a crowd.’

Griff nodded. There was nothing else to say. He would have to escape immediately and think about his family later.

Lute hobbled along through the night, gingerly picking his way towards the inn but keeping off the main road. There was a deer track of sorts that seemed to follow the road near enough and he was using that to ease his careful way through. It hurt madly doing it this way because the path was so uneven and with lots of obstacles to deal with in the dark, from tree stumps to a surprised badger, but he had to press on. Pilo had given him instructions and Lute knew he had to find Bitter Olof.

This time he heard nothing, not even the starlings that were roosting in the trees gave him a clue that he was being stalked by dark shadows. And once again, by the time his pursuers were upon him, it was too late for him to do much except yell.

He yelled so loudly this time that the starlings screeched their own fright and one of the trees above him seemed to erupt in activity as the small birds took to the air, angry to be disturbed.

Griff was making his unhappy way back to the copse to explain to Tess their predicament when he tripped in his fright, falling and banging his knees painfully on the ground.

As he did so his mind had exploded with the sound of the boy yelling. Griff called him the Whisperer but there was nothing quiet about his voice at this moment. The boy was in serious trouble and Griff saw sparkles behind his eyelids from the intensity. And then the voice just stopped and was gone from his mind.

Lute felt a meaty hand clamp across his mouth. He continued to struggle but it felt pointless considering the size and strength of the man holding him. It also pained him a lot more than his efforts hurt his captor. He finally fell slack.

‘You would have injured yourself more if you’d let that continue,’ a deep voice rumbled behind him. ‘Now, are you done with struggling?’

Lute growled from behind the man’s hand.

‘Answer me. Are you finished?’

Lute nodded.

‘Alright then, lad. I’m going to release you but if you make a sound, my friend here has a fist twice the size of my own and he likes nothing better than to connect it with someone’s chin. Any idea how long you’ll be unconscious if I let him do that?’

Lute shook his head. He still couldn’t see anyone and his side was on fire.

‘Ages. And a mighty headache you’ll have for days afterwards. I speak from experience, lad, don’t I, Mungo?’

Whoever Mungo was, he laughed from somewhere in the bushes.

Lute was finally released, the hand removed from his mouth. He turned slowly to be confronted by two huge men.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘We might ask the same of you and why you’re creeping through the undergrowth and not taking the road like normal folk.’

‘I’m staying out of sight,’ Lute hissed.

‘Nothing like stating the bleeding obvious. I think I can work that out, boy. What I want to know is why?’

Despairing at being set upon for the third time today, furious at the pain in his side and the loss of his horse, and yet to grieve properly at the news that his father may or may not be dead and that Pilo was almost certainly dead, Lute was no longer in any mood for anyone else to make a jest at his expense.

‘Well, who are you that I’m answerable to you?’ he demanded, surprised by how angry he sounded.

The muted moonlight from behind streaky clouds revealed both men were amused.

‘Well, this is Mungo and I’m Little Thom.’

Lute stared at the pair of them, more like bears than men. ‘Little?’

At this both men laughed softly.

Thom shrugged. ‘A name my mam gave me when I was wee babe. It stuck.’

Lute hung onto his fury. ‘If you knew what I’ve been through today you’d know that I have lost all my sense of humour.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. And so if you’ll forgive my rudeness, I’d like to be on my way.’

‘Look out, Mungo, we’ve got someone who’s swallowed the palace silver.’

It was an old saying and casually meant but Lute was reminded once again that he had to be so very careful around strangers. If anyone had even a sniff of an idea of who he was it could mean terrible problems, not just for him but for his parents, the palace officials…and perhaps most importantly, it could alert Janko that he had survived Tirell’s bolting. Right now it was best that his traitorous uncle was still searching for his body.

Little Thom cocked his head to one side. ‘Why are you bent over like that?’

‘I fell over,’ Lute lied, feeling a flutter of panic that he hadn’t concocted a story for himself yet. Everything could go horribly wrong before he knew it.

‘Fell over, eh?’ Thom frowned. ‘You look hurt.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

The man nodded. ‘You haven’t given us a name yet.’

‘Name?’ Lute knew he was hesitating too long, especially given the way Thom’s gaze had narrowed. ‘Er, my name is Peat—at least that’s what Master Pilo calls me.’

‘Pilo?’ Thom straightened. ‘What’s he to you?’

Lute had hoped mentioning Pilo would work and he thanked his lucky stars that he’d remembered how his old friend had told him his name carried some weight in these parts. ‘He’s my master,’ he said, carefully. It was time to tell part of the truth. If these men were going to rob him, they would have done so by now. And if Thom recognised Pilo’s name then it was unlikely he would dare touch a friend of his. He took a breath. ‘Forgive me for being so careful but I’m from the palace.’

‘Is that right?’ Mungo replied, seemingly impressed. ‘Do you know the King personally?’ This next was asked dryly, meant as a jest.

Lute gave a sad grin. ‘I’ve met him on occasion.’

‘And what’s your position at the palace?’ Little Thom asked, much more direct now.

‘I’m one of the stablehands. But I particularly look after Master Pilo’s beasts.’

‘What are you doing here, then, creeping along the road out of Tarrow’s Landing?’

Lute sighed. ‘I was transferring a horse from Floris to an inn called The Shepherd’s Rest and I was set upon.’

‘They stole your horse?’

He nodded glumly. ‘Worse. They stole Master Pilo’s horse.’

‘And money?’ Mungo chimed in.

Lute shrugged. ‘I didn’t have much to steal,’ he lied…just in case, although perhaps to them it was plenty.

‘I presume the horse is no small loss to your master?’ Thom added.

‘Bruno is a fine stallion. Master Pilo’s going to use my guts for garters after this.’

Thom scratched at his beard. ‘Why he’d let a skinny runt like you be in charge of a palace horse without anyone to accompany you seems strange. Pilo is cautious to a fault.’

‘You know my master, then?’

‘Perhaps I do. I know you won’t be able to sit down for a week when he learns of what you’ve lost.’

‘I didn’t lose Bruno, Little Thom, I was ambushed and he was stolen. I was attacked, thrown to the ground and the horse was taken by a pair of thieves that I hope look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.’

Both men laughed at his bravado. ‘Are you going to deal with them, young Peat?’

‘You can be sure of that,’ Lute said, sincerely. ‘And they can pay for the gold they stole from me with a hefty stint in the palace gaol.’