Jack, the giant-killer (21 page)

“Why don’t they use the Hunt?” she asked.

“They’re missing a rider. Whoever took Jacky away had one of their motorcycles. Moon knows what her captor did with the rider. If he managed to kill it—

which is very unlikely—she’ll be safe from the Hunt. For awhile, at least. When one of their number’s slain… They don’t work as well unless all nine are alive and gathered.”

It was taking Kate a lot longer to remove Arkan’s bonds than it had taken him to undo hers. She kept staring at every noise she heard. My nerves are shot, she thought. Finished. Kaput. And whenever the piggish thing snuffled, she could feel her skin crawling. But at last she had Arkan free. Then she removed the nettle coat from Eilian while Arkan untied Finn.

“I know it’d come to no good, talking to that girl,”

Finn muttered as he was freed. “All her talk about rescuing this and doing that, and here we all are, trapped in the Big Men’s own Keep—damn their stone hearts—and where’s she? Running free, is where. And far from here if she has any sense.”

“That’s unfair to say,” Eilian said before Kate could voice her own sharper retort to the hob. “She led us, yes, but we followed of our own will. And it wasn’t part of her plan to get snatched away while we were all ambushed.”

“She had no plan,” Finn said. “And that’s where all the trouble began. Just pushing in here and pushing in there— oh, I admire her pluck, yes, I do—but there was never a hope. Just look at us now—ready for the stewpots if those gullywudes have us, worse I’m sure, if the Big Men decide they want us. And our Jack herself, out being hunted up dale and down by everything from Big Men to the Wild Hunt itself, I don’t doubt. Oh, it’s a bad time we’re in the middle of, and the end’ll only be worse.“

Arkan had been investigating the grated wooden door while Finn was complaining. He turned back and shook his head at Eilian’s unspoken question. “There’s no way out through that—not unless we can match the strength of five bogans.”

“I won’t go easy this time,” Eilian said. “They’ll not do to me what they did to this poor soul. I’ll hang myself first.”

All gazes turned to their cellmate. The ugly head of the creature scraped the ground as it backed fearfully away from them, belly to the ground. Kate took a deep breath, let it out. She swallowed, then moved slowly forward.

“There, there,” she said to it. Someone had to do something for it. “We won’t hurt you. How could we, you poor thing? Come here. Don’t be afraid of me. Kate won’t hurt you.”

It trembled as she approached, but no longer tried to back away. Forcing her stomach to keep down what wanted to come up her gorge, Kate reached for the creature, stroked the rough skin of its head as she worked at undoing its nettle coat. Her hands were already stinging from removing Eilian’s and now the pain was worse—sharp, like hundreds of little knives piercing her skin.

She wasn’t afraid of the creature anymore—not as she had been at first. And even her repugnance faded, now that she could feel it tremble under her hands. It wasn’t its fault that it was in this predicament—any more than it was their own. But oh, what would the Gruagagh do if this was all that had become of his Laird’s daughter? Samhaine Eve was just a couple of weeks away, and the lot of them all trapped anyway. Except for Jacky. And though Jacky had killed a giant and been lucky in everything so far, what could she really do against the hordes of the Unseelie Court that were out there looking for her now?

The last fastening came loose and she tugged the coat from the creature. Its shape began to change, the emaciated pig’s body becoming a sickly-thin woman’s. But the head—the head didn’t change at all.

“Are there beings like this in either of the faerie Courts?” Kate asked her companions as she held the trembling woman with the pig’s head against her shoulder. The creature burrowed its face in the folds of Kate’s torn clothing.

Eilian shook his head. “She’s been enchanted—

evilly enchanted.”

“By a gruagagh?” Kate asked.

“Or a witch.”

Kate put her head close to the woman’s. “Can you speak?” she asked. “Who did this to you? Who are you? Please don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you.”

“Ugly.” The one word came out, muffled and low. Kate forced a smile into her voice. “You think you’re ugly? Haven’t you seen that monstrosity lording it over his Court out there? Now that’s ugly!

Not you.”

There was a long pause before the muffled voice said, “I saw… your face. I saw my ugliness reflected in your eyes.”

Kate stroked the dry pig skin of the woman’s head.

“I was scared then—that’s all.” She looked over at Arkan. “Give us your jacket, would you? The poor thing’s got nothing on—no wonder she’s scared. Bunch of jocks like you gawking at her.” Arkan passed her his jacket and she wrapped it around her charge.

“We want to help you,” she said. “We’re all in here together, you know, so we might as well try to get along. My name’s Kate Hazel. What’s yours?”

The pig’s head lifted to look Kate in the eye. Kate steeled her features and refused to let any repugnance show. In fact, it wasn’t so hard. She felt so bad for the poor woman that she didn’t see her as ugly anymore, for all that it
was
still a pig’s head. She schooled herself not to show pity either. Strangely enough, feeling protective for this poor creature, she’d ended up losing her own fears about being trapped here in the Giants’ Keep.

“Make up a name,” she said, “if you don’t want to tell us your real one. Just so we can call you something.”

The creature swallowed nervously. Its gaze darted to the others in the cell, then back to Kate.

“I…I’m Gyre the Elder’s daughter,” she said finally.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

« ^ »

Clinging to the back of what might be either her benefactor or captor, with the rough texture of his twig and leaf coat slickly against her and the wind rushing by her ears with a gale-like force, all Jacky could do was hold on for dear life. They were going too fast for her to dare jumping off. But as the ambush fell further and further behind them and, with it, her captured, maybe hurt—please, God, not dead—friends, her fear for her own safety got buried under a wave of anger. When the Harley began to slow down about a halfmile past the gravel pit, she dared to let go of a hand and whacked the stranger on the back.

“Let me go!” she shouted in his ear.

The motorcycle came to a skidding halt along the side of the road, so abruptly that they almost both toppled off. Jacky hopped from her seat and ran a few steps away from the machine. She wanted to take off, but after what had happened back at the bridge, and with this new as yet undefined being facing her, she wasn’t quite sure what she should do. The stranger, for his part, merely smiled, and pushed the Harley into the ditch. Jacky swallowed nervously when she spotted his cloven feet.

“Who—who are you?” she asked.

“I have a pocket full of names,” he replied, grinning.

Like most of the faerie Jacky had met so far, there was something indefinable in his eyes, something that she was never sure she could trust.

“I wonder which you’d like to hear?” the stranger added, thrusting one hand into a deep pocket. “A Jackish one won’t do—you having a Jackish name yourself—but perhaps Tom Coof?”

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the air too quickly for Jacky to see what it was. A fine dust sprinkled down, covering him, and then he appeared like a village simpleton to her.

“Or maybe Cappy Rag would please you better?” he asked. “A bit of a Gypsy, you know, but more kindly than some I could be.”

Again the hand went into the pocket, out again and up into the air. When the new dust settled, he was wearing a wild coat that was covered with multicoloured, many-lengthed ribbons, all tattery and bright. He did a quick spin, ribbons flying in a whirl of colour, dizzying Jacky.

“Or perhaps—

But Jacky cut him off. When he’d done his little spin, she’d seen the bag hanging from his shoulder, recognized the shape of the thing it held.

“Or perhaps your name is Kerevan,” she said, “and you play the fiddle as well as the fool. What do you want with me?”

Kerevan shrugged, showing no surprise that she knew his name. The ribbon coat became a coat of heather, twigs and leaves.

“I made a bargain,” he said. “To see you to the Giants’ Keep.”

“A bargain? With whom? And what about my

friends?”

“The bargain didn’t include anyone else.”

“And who did you make this bargain with?”

“Can’t say.”

Bhruic, perhaps? Jacky thought. Only why he would do this, why he’d disappeared from the Tower… none of this made sense. And what if it hadn’t been Bhruic?

It was so hard to think. But she was sure of one thing: She didn’t want anything to do with this—she glanced at the hooves again— whatever he was. She looked back down the road they’d travelled, but they’d gone too far for her to see what had become of her friends and the attacking Host. Then, before Kerevan could stop her, she slipped on her hob-stitched coat and disappeared from sight.

“Then think about this,” her bodiless voice called out to him. “You didn’t see me to the Giants’ Keep and I’m not going with you, so your side of this bargain will never be completed.”

Hob-stitched shoes helped her slip swiftly up the pavement from where she’d been standing.

“You can’t do this!” Kerevan cried. “You mustn’t!”

He tossed a powder towards where she’d been standing, but it fluttered uselessly to the ground, revealing nothing because she wasn’t there.

“Who did you bargain with?” Jacky called, moving with magical quickness as she spoke. “And what was the bargain?”

By the time Kerevan reached the spot she’d been, she was away down the road again. She looked back, expecting him to at least be trying to pursue her, but instead he took his fiddle from its bag, then the bow. He tightened the hairs of the bow, but before he could draw it across the strings, Jacky had her fingers in her ears. She could hear what he was playing, not loudly, but audible all the same.

There was a spell in the music. It said,
Take off your
coat. Lie down and sleep. What a weary day it’s been.
That coat will make a fine pillow, now won’t it just
?

If she hadn’t had her fingers in her ears, the spell would have worked. But she’d been prepared, cutting down the potency of the spell by cutting down the volume, as well as being mentally prepared for, if not exactly this, well then, at least something. She moved silently closer, soft-stepping like a cat, watching the growing consternation on the fiddler’s face. She was close to him now. Very close. Taking a deep breath, she reached forward suddenly, snatching the fiddle from his grasp, and took off again, with a hob’s stealth and speed.

“This is a stupid game!” she called to him, changing position after every few words. “Why don’t you go home and leave me alone? Go back and tell Bhruic that I
am
going to the Giants’ Keep and I don’t need fools like you getting in the way. And I don’t need him, either.”

“But—”

“Go on, or I’ll break this thing.”

“Please, oh, please don’t!”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve stolen me away from my friends—they could be captured or dead or God knows what and all you do is stand around playing stupid word games when I ask you a civil question. Thank you for helping me escape. Now get out of my life or I’ll smash this fiddle of yours—I swear I will!”

Kerevan sat down on the side of the road. He laid his bow on the gravel in front of him and emptied his pockets. What grew in a pile beside the bow looked like a heap of pebbles, but they were all soft and a hundred different colours. There was magic in them, in each one, Jacky knew. She moved closer, still silent.

“A bargain,” Kerevan said. “My riddle for the answers to whatever you want.” When there was no reply, he pointed to the pile. “These are wally-stanes,”

he said. “Not quartz or stone, and not playthings, but magics—my magics. They’re filled with dusts that can catch an invisible Jack or change a shape, or even a name. They’re yours—just give me the fiddle and let me see you safe to the Giants’ Keep.”

“Why?”

“Why, why, why! What does it matter why? The bargain’s a good one. The fiddle’s no use to you, without the kenning, and I doubt you know the kenning, now do you? But these wally-stanes any fool can use, even a Jack, and there’s a power in them, power you’ll need before the night’s through.”

Again there was a silence. Then Jacky spoke once more, this time from a dozen feet away from where her voice had come when it had asked why.

“This is the bargain I’ll offer,” she said. “Your fiddle, for my safety from you, for the wally-stanes, and for the knowledge of who you had your first bargain with—the bargain to see me safely to the keep,” she amended quickly.

Kerevan’s smile faded as she caught herself. His first bargain would have been easy. That was his bargain with life and with it he’d gotten born. Oh, this was no fool, this Jack, or the right kind of fool, depending on how you juggled your tricks.

“That’s too much for an old fiddle,” he said.

“Well, I’ll just be going then,” Jacky replied. She was standing almost directly behind now and startled him with her proximity. Kerevan wanted—oh, very badly—to turn around and try to nab her, but he thought better of it. She was no fool, and she was quick too. But he remembered now, while he’d been looking for her, with more senses than just his eyes, he had sensed something he thought he could use.

“Let me show you a thing,” he said. “Let me take you to a place nearby and show you something—no tricks now, and this is a promise from one puck to another.”

How can I trust you? Jacky wanted to ask, but she was standing in front of him at the time, looking into his eyes, and knew—without knowing how, while thinking, oh, you’re a fool, indeed, and not the kind Kerevan meant either—that she had to trust him. Yet she’d trusted the Gruagagh…

“All right,” she said finally. “But I’m keeping the fiddle.”

“Fair enough.” He tossed the bag out towards her voice. “But store it in this, would you? There’s a fair bit of my heart in that wee instrument and if you chip it or bang it, you’ll be chipping away bits of me.”