Hunter's Moon (20 page)

The servants put the crate down and one of them pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. I heard him say something but didn't hear the words clearly. But they all looked over at me. One of them said something, and the first one shrugged, then nodded. What was going on?

I soon found out. Opening the top panel, they leaned in and pushed me a little up, so that my head touched one end of the box. Then they opened the crate and lifted out another still figure, which they plonked unceremoniously at my feet. It was when they lifted it from the crate that I saw that it wasn't a human figure, but …

A wolf!

Not the hazel-eyed, sinister black wolf of last night, but a small white wolf, with sharp pointed incisors and eyes that glowed green. Eyes that sparkled with friendly life. And I knew in that moment two things: the outcasts were safe, and the Prince had not abandoned me. For he had sent Verakina to save me.

‘Funny kind of idea, if you ask me,' said one of the servants, ‘but the note clearly says it has to go in with this one. Look.'

The other servant looked at the dispatch note. ‘Yes. It's a stuffed husky dog, says here. Meant to represent some kind of pet or something. Looks creepy if you ask me, with those bright glass eyes … But then the whole place gives me the creeps. Tell you what – I wouldn't like to be here in the dead of night.'

‘Me neither. Come on, let's get out of here,' said the first one.

They slammed the lid down and wheeled away the crate. At my feet, the white wolf crouched, unmoving, until they had left the room. There were a few uncertain moments when I began to wonder if I'd imagined what I'd seen, if the wolf was in fact a stuffed husky, intended to be some kind of strange companion for me in tomorrow's show. And then, very faintly at first, I heard a rustle.
Another. I felt a small movement against my feet. Another. And then I felt the animal stretch as she rose to her feet.

She did not speak at all; I only learnt later that in her wolf shape, her human voice left her. But her eyes spoke for her as she carefully stepped up my side and, with a gentle paw, prised my mouth open. Then she opened her own mouth, and out dropped a small vial, which she picked back up with her teeth and struck against the glass. The stopper came free and she poured what was inside into my mouth. It released a cold, cold liquid that shot down my throat like an icy fire.

An agonising pain surged through me, a pain worse than anything I could have imagined. For a horrified instant, I thought that I'd been poisoned and was about to die. Was that how the Prince sought to free me? But I didn't think much more than that because the pain was so intense that I blacked out. Coming to – I do not know how long later – I felt weak as a kitten. But the pain had gone. And so had the paralysis. Instead, I was shivering, shaking like a leaf, every muscle and nerve trembling into life again, like a massive case of pins and needles after a long numbness. The wolf watched me calmly, her eyes fixed on my face. As the pins and needles subsided, I found my voice again – a thread of sound, a whisper, my throat sore as though I'd been ill – but still, it was my voice.

‘Oh, Verakina,' I whispered, ‘I am so very glad to see you.'

The wolf Verakina bared her teeth in what was clearly meant to be a smile, and I tried not to look at those sharp rows of teeth.

‘Did the Prince send you?'

She nodded her head up and down.

‘What do we do now?' I started to panic. Although I could now move, I was still trapped in the glass coffin.

Verakina pushed up against me with her head. Her eyes glowed.

‘I don't understand,' I said.

She put a paw up to her throat and tapped it. Puzzled, I was about to repeat that I didn't understand when I suddenly got it. Reaching in under the thick white fur at her neck, I discovered a thin chain and, hanging from it, a thin instrument that must be …

‘A lock pick!' I exclaimed.

Carefully, I detached the instrument from the chain and inserted it into the panel lock. It took me a couple of goes but to my delight I soon heard a click as the lock sprang open. Verakina lithely jumped out of the glass box and stood waiting for me to follow.

My own exit from the glass prison was less supple, but I was soon out and standing on my rather wobbly legs. It was the most indescribable feeling to be free, but I didn't waste time savouring it, for I knew we needed to leave that place straightaway. The trouble was that the only exit that I could see was the door through which the servants had come and gone. It was a risk – we might bump into someone – but there was no help for it; we had to go that way.

Tiptoeing to the door with Verakina at my heels, I carefully eased it open and looked out. There were no guards. They clearly thought that dummies in glass boxes were not prime candidates for escape.

We crept out of the hall, closing the door softly behind us. Verakina, nose to the ground, took the lead, and we
slipped along a corridor, then another. Though I did not recognise the place, judging by the portraits on the wall I felt sure we were in one of the Duke's residences. We came to some stairs and Verakina nosed down them, with me following her. The stairs led to a rabbit warren of kitchens, sculleries and cellars and, keeping well out of the way of the noisy areas in which servants were busy working, we discovered at last a door that led to a kitchen garden. In the garden, we could at first see no exit. And then we spotted it, half-hidden under greenery: a door, stiff because of its old rusted hinges. It took me a few tries but at last I was able to wrench it open, and we were outside.

‘I think we might be on the western side of the city,' I said, looking around. ‘I know the Duke has a residence in that area.' I looked at Verakina. ‘We have to find a safe place to hide in the city. But Lu–' I broke off, remembering that Verakina had only ever called him ‘the Prince', and went on smoothly with, ‘– the Prince's safe house is finished. Has he told you where we should go now?'

Verakina shook her wolfish head from side to side.

‘Oh. Well, then, we'll have to see if we can –' I stopped suddenly, remembering something that had come to me, back in that terrible hall. ‘Verakina,' I said, ‘we don't need to hide, we need an ally. And I know just where one is to be found – and they're on this side of the city!'

The Wheat Sheaf Inn is one of the oldest hotels in the city. Its main claim to fame is that one of our greatest poets, Franz Keren, once had rooms there, a hundred or more years ago. Framed signed copies of some of his poems still hang in the inn's big main room, and starstruck admirers from all over Noricia and beyond still make their
way there to gaze at the master's actual handwriting. But aside from that, it is hardly what you would call an elegant hotel, being modestly appointed – though it's not without a certain quaint charm.

Here it was, I knew, that Olga, Andel, little Frans-Ivan and the old feya they called Lady Grandmother, had set up temporary residence. It wasn't a bad place for them to be, for among the motley and colourful mix of literary folk, students and travellers, they wouldn't stand out much.

‘They're not here,' the girl at the reception counter told me, when I asked after the party of Ruvenyans.

‘I mean,' she added, seeing my crestfallen expression, ‘they're out. They'll be back. Somebody called in to see them this morning and they went out shortly after.'

Quickly I thought of what we should do next.

‘Who came to see them?' I asked her. ‘You see,' I added, thinking of a lie to tell, so that I might be able to find out where they'd gone, ‘a mutual friend was to call on them and I wonder if they've gone off together.'

‘Wait a moment,' she said, consulting the visitors' register. ‘Ah yes. It was a “Dr Nord”.'

For a moment I was baffled by the familiar-sounding name. Then it came to me. Dr Nord was the gentleman I'd met on the coach. But what was his connection to the others?

‘Was that your friend?' the receptionist asked me suspiciously.

I nodded, trying to contain my surprise at what was surely not a coincidence. ‘Did they say where they were going?'

‘No. But I did overhear their visitor mentioning his lodgings. They might have gone there, wherever that is.'

‘Thank you,' I said. ‘You've been most helpful.'

‘It's no trouble.' She looked at me with a little puzzled frown, as if something about me had triggered a recollection in her. I didn't wait for the receptionist to begin to remember the newspaper photographs of the tragic drowned Dalmatin heiress, but left.

‘We'll have to try Dr Nord's hotel,' I told Verakina once I was outside, ‘but if they're not there, we'll have to think of something else. Do you really have no idea where the Prince is?'

She shook her head, mutely and mournfully. I looked at her. She had waited for me outside, while I had gone into the Wheat Sheaf Inn, and I saw that while she waited she must have rolled in the dust, for her fur looked greyish rather than white now, making her look more like a stray dog than a werewolf. It gave me an idea.

‘I've seen beggars with their dogs outside those smart hotels before now,' I said. ‘We're going to play that part, you and I.'

So I rubbed my own face with dirt, ruffled my hair so it looked tangled, and scuffed my shoes till they looked utterly disreputable. In a nearby bin I found a ragged old shawl someone had thrown out. Holding my nose – it smelt somewhat of fish – I pulled it over my head to help with my disguise. Verakina looked at me with a glint in her eye.

‘I know what you're thinking,' I said to her. ‘No-one will ever let me into the front door of that hotel. Well, you'll see.'

It was strange. I was in grave danger. Once Belladonna found out I was gone, she'd set the hunters on me. If they
caught me this time, I'd be dead. I had no illusions about that. And yet there was a lightness and brightness in me that I could hardly explain. Perhaps it was because I'd been so close to death that every moment seemed like a miracle. Or perhaps it was because I knew Lucian had not abandoned me. With the Prince – and Verakina – helping me, I was no longer alone. Hope no longer seemed like a crazy dream.

We reached the environs of Dr Nord's hotel without challenge. The Villa Valverd is situated on one of the biggest, finest squares of Lepmest and is one of a string of smart hotels lining the square. As I'd thought, nobody gave a second glance to the beggar girl and her skinny grey dog. But though I'd told Verakina so confidently that I would easily get into the hotel itself, in reality I knew that it would be difficult to inveigle the doorman into letting me in. We had to trick him, but not with words. It had to be a distraction – and I wasn't at all sure my plan would work.

Crouching in a little alley just off the square, near the hotel, I explained my plan in a whisper to Verakina. ‘So are you clear on it?' I asked, when I'd finished.

She shot me a look. Do you take me for a fool? her look said, as sharply as though she'd spoken the words.

I smiled. ‘Forgive me, Verakina. I'm just nervous.'

Verakina barrelled out of our hiding place and headed straight for the Villa Valverd and the doorman standing on guard in his tail coat at the front steps. I watched her sprint up the steps and saw the doorman fall back for an instant, then try to shoo her away. I watched in growing delight as, with snarls and yowls, Verakina went for his
tail coat and yanked on it, while he flapped and squawked and tried to make her let go. As a crowd began to gather, I sidled out of the hiding place, after rubbing my face with the shawl, which I then ditched, with some relief. Verakina yanked hard on the tail coat and the doorman was pulled down the steps. He was furious now, bright red in the face, yelling that he'd chop the mongrel dog into little pieces if she didn't let go of his coat at once.

As I scuttled unseen up the steps, blocked from his view by the crowd, I heard a rending noise as the cloth tore and, completely forgetting his duty or even caution, the doorman threw himself at Verakina, who nimbly sidestepped him, baring her teeth in a grin.

‘I'll get you, you evil mutt!' the man was yelling as I slipped in through the unguarded door.

In the foyer, the commotion outside had not passed unnoticed, and I knew I would not either. So I chose the boldest approach. Marching up to the reception desk, I announced, ‘Urgent telegram for Dr Nord, to be delivered into his own hands.'

‘Give it to me, girl,' said the receptionist.

‘No. I cannot, sir. I have strict instructions. It's to be delivered into Dr Nord's hands, and his hands only.'

The receptionist looked at me. For a moment, I thought he was going to have me thrown out. Then his expression changed. He shrugged. ‘Very well. Room twenty-three. Second floor.'

As I went past the counter to the lifts, I noticed that in a rack nearby was a row of today's newspapers. One of them was the
Ladies' Journal
. I picked it up. Sure enough, there in the middle of the paper was the next instalment of my
story. Shoving the paper in my skirt pocket, I hurried to the lift, ignoring the rather disdainful look on the face of the liftboy. Emerging onto the second floor, I followed the arrow pointing to rooms twenty to twenty-three and had just gone around a turn in the corridor when suddenly a door to one of the rooms opened.

I whipped back around the corner, for I had seen that the man standing on the threshold wore the black uniform of the Special Police!

I felt as if my heart might stop beating. Though he wasn't wearing the black balaclava he had been wearing when I first saw him at the station, and though he wasn't in his wolfish shape as he had been the last time I'd seen him, I was certain that this was the same sinister policeman, and when he turned his head a little to the side, I saw that scar running close to one eye, just as it had in his wolf form, and I knew that my instincts were right.

What was he doing here? And why was he talking to Dr Nord? For even though he spoke in a foreign language and I could not understand his words, I could hear that it was Dr Nord speaking. Could I trust Dr Nord, after this? From the tone of his voice I could tell that he wasn't happy, so surely that meant that he was not an ally of the policeman's … Still, I was reluctant, now, to take any more chances and reveal myself to him, not unless I had to …

I decided to leave.

Backing away, I hid behind a service trolley and waited until I heard the lift open. Peering out, I saw the policeman get in, and as the lift doors closed, I caught another glimpse of his unmasked face. I have seldom
seen a harder or crueler face, with its high cheekbones, thin lips, and livid scar. I could not see his eyes, for he wore tinted glasses, but I shrank from their imagined glare. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his closely-cropped hair was jet black. And he was younger than I had imagined. Perhaps Lucian's age, perhaps a little older. He carried such an aura of danger and threat that I could all but smell it.