Moonlight and Ashes (10 page)

The warder stood framed in the doorway, carrying a tray on which reposed two steaming mugs of fragrant tea and a plate of seed cake. ‘Supper,' he grunted, and came into the room. And that's when I saw that his little son was behind him, staring at us with great curiosity.

An idea flashed into my mind – an idea so desperate and chancy that I knew it had very little likelihood of working. But I had to try. I shot Olga a glance, patted my pocket and gave a minute jerk of the head towards the child. To my relief her face lightened. She had understood. And as the warder put the tray down on the floor before us, she flung herself at the man's feet, clutching at his boots. ‘Oh sir, you so kind,' she sobbed, her words even more broken than usual. ‘You such kind man to miserable prisoners. We thank very much, kind sir, kind sir –'

‘Stop that, stop,' said the warder, waving a hand at her as though she were a pesky fly. ‘Stop it, show some dignity at least, Ruvenyan vermin.'

‘Oh sir, but I so grateful, so grateful . . .' And on she went, clutching at him all the while.

I had my chance. I took the top out of my pocket and, concealing it in my hand, sidled over to the boy and whispered, ‘Look.' I opened my hand. The top gleamed softly, appealingly. ‘You like?'

He looked at me and nodded.

‘It's magic,' I breathed. ‘It grants wishes.'

The little boy's eyes widened.

I whispered, ‘Do you want it?'

He looked quickly at his father, who was still busy trying to extricate himself from Olga's noisy clutches. He looked at the top. There was deep longing in his eyes as he murmured, ‘I'm not allowed.'

‘Then come later when everyone's asleep and I'll give it to you. No-one will know. Agreed?'

A sly look came into his eyes. He nodded. I slipped the top back into my pocket. His eyes followed the movement. I gave him a wink. He swallowed. I could see he was hooked, and wouldn't rest till he had that shiny magic toy in his hot little hands.

His father had finally managed, by dint of pushes and kicks, to free himself from Olga, who lay rolled up in a ball on the floor hiccupping and sobbing. He looked at me and snapped, ‘Get it into your thick heads such shameful displays won't do you any good. Have your supper and get some rest. They come for you at dawn,' and without waiting for an answer, he marched out, the child following meekly at his heels.

When the door was firmly locked again and their footsteps had receded away down the corridor, Olga
immediately unrolled herself. Her face was streaked with tears she'd forced out, but her eyes were gleaming with mischief. ‘Well?'

I told her what had happened and a smile slowly spread over her face. ‘Selena, you are genius!'

‘No, just desperate. And it probably won't work.'

‘Why you say this? Max say only a Mancer can unlock doors and that is a Mancer brat.'

‘Yes, but I don't know if you need to be a certain age before you can work magic. He said he wasn't allowed to have the top, which probably means he's not allowed to own magical objects. So that probably also means he's not yet of the age to open those doors by himself.'

‘Piffle,' said Olga, ‘that brat live here, he sees his father open these doors every day, and I bet he knows what is what. Besides, he want that top badly, I am thinking, and will do anything to get it for himself.' She rubbed her hands and, going over to the tray, picked up a mug and a piece of cake. ‘Let us have our supper and then tell Max what is to come.'

‘We might as well do . . .' I began, and then broke off. Something had come back to me – the sly look in the Mancer boy's eyes. ‘Don't eat that!' I cried, as Olga put the cake in her mouth. ‘Don't!'

‘Why not? It smell wonderful.'

‘Exactly. Why would they lock us up in a stinking prison and then give us delicious tea and cake for supper? Think of the rubbish they gave us in the police cell. This doesn't make sense, Olga, can't you see? Leave it.'

She looked at the cake and at the tea. She said, uncertainly, ‘It is poison, you mean?'

‘Maybe. Or maybe just something to make us sleep.'

‘How can you know this?'

‘I don't. The boy – he had a look in his eyes when I suggested that he come later – he looked as if he knew something I did not. I mean, he is young but he is still a warder's son. He must know a prisoner wants to escape and that that was my plan. But he knew I couldn't because I wouldn't be awake, and that he could just take the top and no-one would be any the wiser.'

Olga stared at me. Then she threw the cake down and ground it underfoot, followed with the tea. It hissed like a snake as it touched the straw and an ugly pale scum appeared in place of the cake crumbs, the straw where it had fallen instantly shrivelling as though in a hard frost.

We looked at each other. Fists clenched, Olga growled, ‘Evil mangy Mancer mongrels – give me one chance and I tear them to pieces, send them to Hell where they belong . . . and that spawn of the Devil with them. That vile brat . . .'

‘If it hadn't been for him, we'd have drunk that tea and eaten that cake,' I said. ‘So he has done us a favour. Oh no, Olga! I've just thought – Max – they came to Max, first!' Without waiting for her answer, I frantically shovelled the straw away from the hole in the flagstone. I peered down and saw Max sitting by a tray identical to ours. He had the mug of tea in his hands. But of the cake, there was no sign . . .

I called down, wildly, ‘Max! Max! Don't drink that!'

He looked up and my heart sank. His eyes were unfocussed and there was a foolish smile on his face. ‘Hello, my dear, and how are you this fine evening?'

‘Max, please – don't drink any more! Please, I beg you, don't.'

‘Why? It is good and hot,' he said, ‘and it smudges my mind and makes me forget how I was betrayed and how it can never, never be put right because you see, my dear – my very dear, it is too late, far too late –'

‘No! No, it isn't, Max! We're getting out tonight, I promise. Tonight I will come for you and we will get out of this place and we will go to your father.'

His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘They will not let us reach him and even if by some miracle we do, it will be no good. He will never believe . . .' He stopped abruptly.

‘Never believe what?'

‘Never believe this could happen,' he said sadly.

‘Don't be so weak, Max!' I shouted. ‘You're getting out whether you like it or not so stop drinking that horrible tea right now and throw it away!'

His head jerked up. There was the beginning of a smile in his eyes. ‘What a spitfire you are,' he said.

‘Call me what you like, but just get rid of that stuff. Please, Max.'

‘If I do, will you promise me something?' he said.

‘Depends what,' I said sharply, feeling hot and cold, annoyed with myself and with him. This was no time for silly romantic notions. If he asked for a kiss or a vow of true love or something absurd like that I would tell him smartly to pull his head in and stop being such a –

Then he took the wind out of my sails completely by saying, ‘Promise you won't hate me.'

‘What are you talking about? Why on earth should I –'

‘The truth,' he said. ‘You might hate me when you know the truth.'

‘You're raving,' I said, shaken.

‘That may well be. I feel more than a little mad already,' he said quietly. ‘But do you promise?'

‘Of course I do,' I said. ‘There, now, do you feel better?'

‘Yes,' he said and deliberately tipped his tea into the straw.

‘See?' I said, when he gave a little start as the pale scum appeared. ‘How much of that rubbish did you drink?'

‘Only a few sips,' he said.

‘And the cake?'

‘Oh, I've never liked seed cake, ever since I was a child. Left it in the corner for the rats.'

Relief washed over me. ‘Good. It
is
only fit for rats. Look, Max, don't go to sleep, whatever you do, all right?'

‘All right,' he said and gave me a big smile. His gaze was still a little unfocused but not as much as before, I thought. He was returning to his senses and his wits. ‘I'll do long division in my head or mentally compose an essay analysing our predicament or recite to myself the most pompous and ridiculous poems I learned at school.'

I laughed. He was definitely on the mend, I thought. ‘Careful you don't bore yourself to sleep,' I said.

‘I won't. And you stay awake too,' he said.

‘I will. See you soon,' I said, my heart lighter than it should have been. I turned back to Olga.

‘He's all right,' I said, and explained what had happened.

She said, ‘That promise he asked you – why do that? It is strange.'

‘I just think it was the spell in the tea working on him,' I said. ‘He said it smudged his mind and helped him forget
the way he'd been betrayed. Perhaps he doesn't realise I already know the truth – that, of course, it can only be the Prince, his lifelong friend, who has betrayed him and had him arrested and locked up.'

‘But why he think you hate him for this? You did not like the Prince.'

‘No, I certainly did not,' I said, ‘but you know Max is from the Court and he is used to thinking of the royal family as the centre of the universe and, besides, I think he is still loyal to that creep of a Leopold and does not want to believe what has happened himself. He even thinks it might be his fault and – oh, it is all muddled in his head.' It sounded muddled to me, too, but it was the only way I could explain what I was sure was going on in poor Maximilian von Gildenstein's mind. I was sure because I had felt the same things myself. I knew what betrayal was. I knew how it felt when someone you trusted turned out not to be worthy of that trust. I knew how you could take nothing for granted and that overnight your life could change from sunshine to shadow. And I knew that at first you did not want to believe the worst and that it took time, bitter time, for the iron to really enter your soul.

We got rid of the rest of the tea and cake and settled down for a wait whose length we could not guess. At first we talked round and round the possibilities. If the Mancer boy decided to come back – and it was a big if – he'd have to wait till his parents were asleep, and that would likely be pretty late. Would a child of his age be able to keep his eyes open that long?

I wasn't exactly feeling fresh as a field flower after a spring shower either and Olga did not look too much better. The exhaustion of the last few days was setting in with every slow, dragging minute as the cell grew darker and darker and the space between our words grew longer until finally silence fell. I had tried to stop myself from sleeping by sitting bolt upright against the hard stone wall but as time passed I could feel my limbs turning to melted rubber and my head bending further and further towards my chest. Though I pinched myself several times to stop the treacherous sleepiness from invading me completely,
I could feel it was getting to be a losing battle. Never mind the spell-laced tea, nature was doing her stealthy work, and all I could think of was sleep, sleep, sleep . . .

It was Olga who saved us. The boy had opened the door so quietly that I would certainly not have heard it in my state if I'd been alone. Although she was so tired in her human shape, Olga's buried wolf-instinct must have pricked up her ears at the tiny sound the boy made, waking her instantly from the light doze into which she'd fallen.

She told me later how she'd done it. He had come in, his footsteps as light as a feather, and stopped to see if we were asleep, then had headed straight to me. He had his back to where Olga lay and, as he reached stealthily for my pocket, she sprang, knocking him down and making the small bunch of keys he was carrying fly out of his hand. I woke with a start to see Olga with her knee on the child's chest and her hand over his mouth as she said, ‘Your Mama tell you stories of werewolves, boy?'

A frightened nod.

‘She say they kill and eat little children?'

Another scared nod.

‘Well, boy, you better believe it. If you scream or you try to warn anyone or you don't do what we say, I'll . . .' And she bared her sharp white teeth in a menacing snarl. I felt a little sorry for him then because I knew Olga would never carry out her threat. But it would keep him quiet – of that there was no doubt, seeing the terror on his face.

No time to lose now. We picked up the keys and slipped out with the boy still held in Olga's grip. We made him
lock the door of the cell again, with the key and the magic words which he murmured under his breath. If there was a delay in them finding out we'd gone, so much the better.

Our corridor was empty and unguarded; the prisoners on this floor were obviously considered low-risk and of low value. I would've liked to open every cell door but it was too risky. We had to get away quickly.

We reached a flight of stairs and went down, pausing in the shadows of the landing to spy out the territory. Two corridors: one leading right, one left. As Max's cell was directly under ours, it would be in the corridor on the left. Alas, the way was barred by an enormous guard who sat at a table with his back to us facing the line of cells, reading a newspaper in the light of a lamp. Somehow, we had to get past him. Someone had to cause a distraction and allow the others to get past. But then that someone would be caught, and . . .

‘The top,' Olga whispered in my ear. ‘The top, Selena.'

Of course! I pulled the top out of my pocket and hurled it down the corridor on the right as hard as I could, then pressed back in the shadows under the stairs with the others.

For such a small object, the top made an unholy noise, clattering on the flagstone floor with a metallic screech. The effect was spectacular. The guard jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. It then fell into the table, which crashed and knocked the lamp over, shattering the glass and leaving the corridor in darkness. The guard swore loudly, and ran unseeingly past us down the right-hand corridor where the top had started spinning madly, whirling rapidly away.

It was our chance and we took it, hurrying to Max's cell. The boy unlocked the door, it gently swung open and Max jumped out, having heard the noise.

Quickly, we had the boy relock the door and raced down the corridor, with Olga still hanging on to the child. We went through another door, down to the end of a short corridor where a grate led to a flight of steep stone steps. At the bottom was a swish and lick of water. The river!

I'd hoped there might be a boat tied up there. Indeed, there was a mooring spot but it was empty.

‘They're probably out on patrol,' Max said. ‘Hopefully they won't come back too soon. We'll have to swim. The Golden Bridge isn't far, by my reckoning. I think we should head there and take the first coach or train out of the city.' He pulled off his boots and stripped off his heavy coat. ‘That is, if you can both swim?'

Olga and I nodded. I could swim but not well and the trouble was that the thought of deep water frightened me. And the river could be treacherous in the dark. You don't know how deep it is till you're in it. But what choice did we have?

‘I don't think we should go to the Golden Bridge,' I said. ‘It's the closest, yes, but for a start it's likely the patrol's gone that way – where the crowds are. We've gained a bit of time locking those doors and we should throw those keys into the river to delay them further.' I threw them in without thinking twice. ‘But once the guards discover we're gone, they'll instantly get word to the patrol, who'll start hunting for us around the Golden Bridge because it's close and because they'll think we'll be heading to the main road or the railway station.'

‘What do you think we should do then?' said Max.

‘Head in the opposite direction to the Cargo Bridge where the barges come in. It's a fair bit further but we could hide amongst the barges and rest while we decide what to do.'

‘You're the local,' said Max. ‘We'll do as you say, Selena.'

I looked at the dark, heaving water, my heart pounding. ‘All right then. Leave the boy behind, Olga, and let's go.' Without waiting for an answer, I threw off my shoes and stockings, rucked my skirts up to the waistband of my cotton drawers and, taking a deep breath, dived straight into the black water.

I supposed it was lucky that my clothes were so thin and worn because at least they didn't weigh me down and I was able to kick my legs freely enough. The water was cold and unpleasantly oily. I tried not to think of beasts that might be lurking in the depths or currents that would pluck one down to a watery grave . . . Oh, for pity's sake, what a fool I am, I thought, worrying about imaginary dangers when the very real threat of the Mancer prison was still not far behind us!

Max swam up beside me with an assured stroke that spoke of long practice. ‘Are you all right?'

‘I am perfectly fine,' I said, crossly treading water, ‘and you should . . .' And then I stopped speaking, for Olga had come into view – and she wasn't on her own. On her back, clinging desperately to her as if she were a lifebuoy, was the Mancer boy!

‘Olga, for God's sake, you were supposed to leave him behind!'

‘No, no,' said Olga scornfully. ‘He know too much. He tell them where we go. He tell them what we do. I think maybe I drown him like keys. Then I think, no, we take boy. Maybe they pay to get him back. Give us safe conduct, even.'

I looked at her and at the frightened boy. ‘He can't swim,' I said.

‘No, the little fool, he cannot. So Olga of the family Ironheart have to carry Mancer brat. And he have sharp claws – ow!' she said fiercely, as the child clung to her ever harder.

‘I'll take him, if you like,' said Max.

She did, and in a trice the child was on the young man's back and we swam on. The boy looked slightly less scared and I felt a surge of pity for him. Mancer or no Mancer, he was still just a child. How would I have felt at his age?

Stop it, Selena, I thought. Little Mancers grow into big Mancers, and big Mancers think people like you and Olga ought to be imprisoned if not outright exterminated. All his life the brat must have heard that sort of thing. And he had known what we'd been given for supper. He had only come to get the top because he thought we'd be unconscious. So it served him right if he was scared, the horrid little sneak. And bad luck to us, too, because now we had to drag him around with us, when he'd probably be looking out for a chance to run away and betray us. For an angry instant I almost wished Olga had flung him into the water, then immediately felt bad for thinking such a thing. Olga had said magic had chosen me because I had ‘a fine, strong heart'; little did she know my heart was filled with the darkest things.

Max had taken the lead now. Despite his burden, he was a much stronger swimmer than either of us. Olga was pretty good too, but my inexperience was beginning to tell. My legs felt like lead, my arms felt like they were going to drop off, my breath tore in my chest, but I grimly kept on from pride as much as anything else.

Fortunately, because it was so late, the river was quiet, with very little traffic. And we probably weren't in the water for more than ten or fifteen minutes. But it felt so much longer and so much further. Ashberg is famous for its many bridges, and we had to go under what seemed like an endless parade of them before I finally recognised the great stone shape of the Cargo Bridge looming out of the darkness, with the moored barges clustered thickly under it like chicks around a mother hen.