Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (7 page)

Jack and the others walked dejectedly home. When they got back, they met Petros, Uncle Hart and Aunt Dorcas, who had been out in the city and had missed all the commotion. Once Ossian had brought them up to date, Uncle Hart announced that they would have to go back to Keldy. There was no way he was leaving his home unattended if Malevola was around in the woods. Rejecting Aunt Katie’s suggestion that it would be safer to send grigs to find out what was happening, Uncle Hart got his family organised and soon they were heading down to the low road.

“But what if those creatures are still there?” Lizzie couldn’t help feeling that Keldy was still too dangerous. “And what were they, anyway?”

“The demon was like the ones at Dunvik,” pointed out Jack.

“And the old man was a Dunter,” explained Ossian. “You know, a Red Cap.”

“Grandpa told me about them last year,” said Jack thoughtfully. “They dip their caps in the victim’s blood. But he said they came from the border lands. If Malevola came from one of the north islands, maybe the Unseelie are joining up from all over.”

It was three days before Armina would let Grandpa Sandy have any visitors. Requests to see him were met with the blunt assertion that he wasn’t well enough. When Jack and his cousins were finally allowed to enter Armina’s house, it was under strict instructions not to touch anything.

As they passed into the hallway, Jack’s nostrils were assaulted by an assortment of odours. The sandalwood he recognised, but there were other, more pungent aromas. Lizzie wrinkled her nose as Rana cautiously pushed open the door to the darkened room where their grandfather lay. A fire was crackling in the grate, but it threw little light into the room.

“Can we have a light on, please?” asked Rana timidly.

Tutting, Armina stuck her sceptre in a holder by the fire.

“Bright light is bad for his wounds. But moonlight is safe.
Lunalumen!
”

The sceptre glowed and the room looked as if bright moonlight was flooding in. Now they could make out their grandfather, lying on a couch.

“Five minutes only!” barked Armina. “He must rest!”

With that she withdrew, and the youngsters shuffled awkwardly forward. Rana took hold of her grandfather’s hand. His eyes opened, but for a moment he appeared not to see her. Then recognition dawned, and he smiled. Patting her hand, he mumbled inaudibly. For once, Rana was unable to speak. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Are you all right, Grandpa?” whispered Lizzie.

He nodded, a slight movement that seemed to take from him what little energy he had. His eyes closed again, and he gave a gentle sigh.

Jack looked around the room nervously. His grandfather’s wounds smelt disgusting. Armina entered and moved swiftly over to the fire, throwing a handful of wood scrapings onto the flames. There was a hiss and crackle of sparks as the scented wood met the blaze.

“The sandalwood cleans the air,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, Sandy, can you speak?”

Grandpa Sandy’s eyes opened again, and he looked over to Jack. With an effort, he cleared his throat.

“Good boy.”

Jack flushed, and blinked furiously to get rid of tears in the corner of his eyes.

“You stepped in again,” continued Grandpa, his voice a little stronger. “You used Gosol. Never doubt its power, Jack. It’s banished demons twice.”

Jack moved over to his grandfather.

“You seemed all right up in Keldy. I thought you were just a bit wounded.”

“It’s the way Phosphan curses work, boy,” stated Armina. “They burn slowly; at first the damage looks slight. That’s why they must be treated quickly, before they burn down to the bone. I can heal it, but it will take many weeks. And now your grandfather must rest. You can see him again in a few days.”

The four youngsters made their way outside.

“Poor Grandpa,” reflected Rana. “I thought he was all right. That Malevola’s an evil hag.”

“Good job you got rid of her, then,” stated Petros, punching Jack lightly on the shoulder.

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “I don’t think she’s gone for good somehow. She took something from Tamlina: did she still have her ring on?”

“I never noticed,” admitted Rana.

“I didn’t think Grandpa would be so badly hurt. What are we going to do without him?” asked Lizzie.

“What did Tamlina say, before she died?” demanded Rana. “Something about a cave, and a saint. Who could help us find out about that?

“There was a bridge too,” stated Jack. “‘The giant’s bridge,’ she said. And waking columns.”

“It was to do with the Sphere, wasn’t it?” Lizzie spoke up now. “Tamlina said that Malevola’s come because she wants the Sphere. And something about the Kildashie.”

There was a pause for a few moments.

“I know you won’t like this,” said Rana slowly, “but if it’s Shian lore, your best bet is Murkle.”

“Anything’s better than asking him,” blurted Petros. “He’s torture.”

“There were manuscripts too,” asserted Jack. “I remember Grandpa talking about them last year. The ones Matthew left in the Stone Room.”

“Matthew the Enchanter?” asked Lizzie.

“He wasn’t an enchanter; at least, I don’t think he was. He taught about Gosol. Anyway, he said he’d left some manuscripts in the Stone Room. Then Fenrig stole them and gave them to his dad. Maybe we should look for them first. Murkle’s too much trouble.”

“Honestly, boys.” Rana spoke to her sister, her tone openly scornful. “They’d rather wander around in circles than ask for help.”

“All right, if you’re so smart, you go and ask him.” Jack threw down the gauntlet. “I bet you don’t get anywhere.”

Rana and Lizzie looked at each other, then back at Jack. Both nodded.

“What d’you bet us?” demanded Rana.

“A silver sovereign,” stated Petros. “But you’ve got to get chapter and verse from him. Everything: where the Sphere is, where the cave is …”

“And the bridge,” butted in Jack.

“Nobody knows where the Sphere is, dimwit,” said Lizzie. “Don’t you think the Congress would have got it by now if Murkle knew where it was? But we’ll get everything else. Agreed?”

The four shook hands on the deal.

As Lizzie and Rana headed for the house, Jack whispered urgently, “We need to find out before they do. Let’s ask Daid. He must know something, especially if the Sphere is mixed up with the humans, like the Chalice was.”

“Daid’s being ‘looked after’, remember? We’ll never get past Murkle.”

“You’ll have to distract him,” said Jack. “Ask him about one of his stories. Or about how the Kildashie control sound. You get him out of the way, and I’ll speak to Daid.”

Petros had little enthusiasm for tackling Murkle on his own. “We’ll both ask him,” he said. “Maybe we can get them apart for a minute or two.”

Jack couldn’t think of a better plan, so the two made their way along to Murkle’s house. For a while Jack’s knock brought no answer; then they heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back.

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“It’s Jack and Petros. Can we come in?”

There was a pause while Murkle appeared to weigh up this request. Then the door was pulled open, and Murkle ushered the youngsters into the front room. Daid sat on one of the chairs. He looked like he hadn’t shaved for several days, his hair was unbrushed and his clothes seemed to hang off him.

“Sit down.” Murkle’s voice was flat.

Jack looked unsurely at Petros as they sat down.

“We … we wanted to ask you about how the Kildashie controlled the Blue Hag’s echo. Someone said they had a silencer charm.”

“The Tassitus?” snorted Murkle. “Impossible. It’s not been heard of for centuries.”

“But I was there when they did it,” persisted Jack.

“Nonsense. A trick of the wind.”

Jack looked awkwardly at Petros. This wasn’t going very well.

“We also wondered about the giant who … who lived in the cave of the wells,” stammered Jack.

Murkle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was a first for him. His countenance brightened, and he moved swiftly to take his own chair. With barely a pause, he launched into the story, which Jack and Petros knew only too well. In desperation, Jack looked across at his cousin, but Petros appeared frozen to the spot. He stared blankly at some indeterminate point on the far wall.

“The Nebula giant has been asleep for countless centuries. He must be woken gently, and with a quartz stone with a double crescent moon …”

No respite. The minutes ticked by.

“And some giants can swim huge distances …”

The voice droned on and on.

“Even stone structures in some giants’ caves can be made to waken by the simple hex ‘Disuscito’ – when the moon’s full, of course …”

No respite.

After a few minutes, Jack realised he would have to take the initiative.

“Excuse me, Murkle, but could I go and get a drink, please? Daid can show me where things are.”

Murkle frowned: he was not used to being interrupted. With a scowl, he waved Jack away and continued his recitation.

Jack stood up and went over to where Daid was sitting. Daid looked at him distractedly.

“Can you show me where the cups are, please?” Jack tried to keep his voice steady.

Daid appeared flustered, but he stood up and followed Jack to the kitchen. Walking across the dingy room, he indicated a cupboard. Jack screwed up his nose at the dank smell, but determined to pursue his goal.

“I wanted …” His voice faltered. “To ask you … about the papers Fenrig stole.”

“You know, don’t you?” Daid looked haunted as he spoke. “I don’t know if it’s the Stone, or the Kildashie. Oh, it’s all terrible.” He paced up and down, pausing only to grip the back of a chair. His fingernails dug deep into the wood, leaving scratch marks. “I should have taken them to the Congress, I know. But I’m not sure … some of them seem to want the Kildashie here.”

“I don’t know what …” began Jack, but then stopped. “When you said it might be the Stone or the Kildashie, what did you mean?”

Daid looked sadly at him. “Ever since Oestre, I’ve been unsure. I touched the Stone. The first Shian in hundreds of years. But I don’t know if it happened because of Oestre or because the Kildashie did something. They’re dangerous. The manuscripts may be lethal in the wrong hands, and the Congress is divided.”

“Daid, d’you mean you’ve got the papers?” said Jack calmly.

Daid looked over at Jack and nodded sadly.

“I found them a few days after I’d touched the Stone. They were in a drawer I know I’d searched before. I don’t know how I missed them.”

Daid pulled a sheaf of tattered old parchments from inside his cardigan and placed them on the table. Jack immediately examined them. The writing on the fragile parchments was old-fashioned and very faint.

“Fenrig stole them, like you said, and he gave them to his father. But he stole them back again and left them here by mistake. Not a very bright boy.” Daid’s voice was flat.

“Do they say where the Sphere is?” asked Jack softly.

Daid shook his head.

“Do they talk of a saint’s cave, or a bridge?” Jack persisted.

Daid’s face momentarily lit up. “You know of the cave?” His eyes were eager, sparkling.

Jack paused. “We … we were told that the Sphere might be found where the cave is. Or at least that we must find the cave first.”

Daid slumped into a chair. “The papers talk of a cave, but it’s confusing. There’s an ancient prophecy in the manuscripts, when children will cross a bridge from the cave and rescue a dead man.”

Jack looked quizzically at Daid. He sensed that there was something else.

“What more do the papers say?” he urged.

Daid was silent. He hung his head; then, taking a deep breath, he looked Jack in the eye.

“They give the dead man a name.”

There was an expectant pause, while Jack waited for Daid to continue.

The silence continued.

“And?” demanded Jack, his patience breaking.

“His name … is Phineas.”

Jack’s astonishment was interrupted immediately by the appearance of Murkle.

“What’s going on? Why are you taking so long?” he demanded.

Daid sat slumped in his chair. Jack, suddenly giddy, had to grab another chair to stop himself from falling. Murkle looked quizzically from one to the other, while Petros peered in uncertainly from the doorway.

Then Murkle spotted the sheaf of papers on the table, and he stepped forward to examine them. Instinctively, Jack tried to grab them, but Murkle’s hand was swifter.

“I’ll take these.” His voice was authoritative. “I think it’s time we had a chat with Petros’ father about this.” He scooped up the manuscripts and, with a stern look at Daid, marched out of the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you keep him in the front room?” hissed Jack as he moved to follow.

“I tried. You were taking too long,” retorted Petros unapologetically.

Murkle had already left the house, and he turned and waved the youngsters on impatiently. With a sense of foreboding, Jack and Petros followed their tutor.

Uncle Doonya was standing in the doorway as the three of them approached the house. Murkle strode up and barked, “I want to know why you can’t keep these impertinent young boys in line.”

“Would you like to come in, Murkle? I think we can discuss this where the rest of the square cannot hear us.” Uncle Doonya’s voice was calm.

To Jack’s surprise, Rana and Lizzie were already in the front room when they entered.

“These young boys came to my house under the false pretext of finding out about Shian folklore,” began Murkle. “By some means, this one –” he indicated Jack “– tricked Daid into showing him these manuscripts.”

“I didn’t trick him, he just showed me them.” Jack’s tone was plaintive, but Uncle Doonya just held up his hand.

“I want to know why you allow these rascals to behave in such an underhand manner,’ said Murkle. ‘I showed them my hospitality, and they abused it.”

“What hospitality?” demanded Petros. “You let us in, that’s all. Jack had to ask for a drink.”

“Shouting will get us nowhere.” Uncle Doonya’s voice was calm. “If the boys have upset your sense of hospitality, then I’m certain they will apologise.” He looked commandingly at Petros, then at Jack. “But I am sure that the Congress would be interested to know that you have these manuscripts. As you know, they were presumed missing.”