The Assassin Princess (Lamb & Castle Book 2) (26 page)

Don't believe me? Think of this tale next time you hear the crash of waves coming from the trees, or the wind stirs and you feel the currents of forgotten seas on your skin. Remember this next time there's a stormy night and the ghosts of the deepwater monsters come howling over the rooftops and down the streets.

“That's preposterous,” said Amelia, who was attempting to pull her hair free of an especially grabby bramble. “How come I've never heard of these ruins in the desert? Or this great big hole in the ground?” She winced as the last golden strands snapped, freeing her from the trap. “And what happened to the mermaids? I lived by the sea all my life and I never saw a mermaid.”

Bessie shrugged. “All the magic of the node burned out for good, so no Flying City can ever go there again, and the world's big enough for more mysteries than a few disappeared mermaids.” She paused. “Of course, Grandad Castle was a thief and a wretched liar, so you must remember to take his stories with a grain of salt.” She glanced back, and saw a look of horror on Amelia's face: it had finally dawned on her that the forbidden stairway, with its precarious iron ladder leaking trails of dark red rust down the side of the Wall, must be their means of escape. “And now you owe me
two
stories,” said Bessie, approaching the secret staircase and pretending not to be afraid of that ladder: steep, rusted, and exposed to the wind… “So get thinking of a story you can tell me next. It had better be a good one, otherwise I –” She froze. “Look!” she whispered. “No, don't panic, I don't think he's seen us yet.”

There, amongst the rooftops, was a figure moving stealthily through the rain – not one of the golems but their Commander. Bessie had forgotten what a good climber he was… but she hadn't forgotten her vow to teach him a lesson about underestimating young ladies. She had her knife in her hand in a flash.

“Bessie!” Amelia hissed, “We don't have time!” She grabbed Bessie by the blazer, pulling her into the shadowed well of the bottom of the forbidden staircase. Reluctantly, Bessie began to climb, and soon the cold wind was dragging at her hair and clothes as she climbed up onto the unprotected top section of the ladder. She ascended swift and quiet as she could, but Amelia had no training in climbing, and her heavy boots set the iron rungs clanging in her hurry. Never mind: soon it wouldn't matter. Bessie clambered over the top of the wall, onto the paved walkway, praying the rain hadn't got into her pockets and disintegrated her paper catsfoot charms… but a bigger obstacle stood between her and safety: a griffin, huge and ghostly pale in the waning light, stood on the walkway no more than a few feet away. It leapt, wings spread, and snatched Bessie up in its great talons. She kicked and shouted as the white griffin bore her aloft, but griffins had been meant to tackle bigger prey than a skinny fourteen-year-old girl. Meanwhile, Amelia had hauled herself up onto the walkway, and cowered there like a frightened rabbit, as if waiting obediently to be the white griffin's second victim. But Amelia was tougher than she'd been just a few months ago, and she overcame the shock faster than Bessie would ever have imagined. Crouching low against the fierce wind that swept across the Walltop walk, Amelia darted down the walkway after the rising griffin, green sparks dancing about her clenched fists, and her eyes grew fierce with concentration as she sought an opportunity to strike the griffin without harming Bessie.

“Amelia, get away!” Bessie shouted. “No point in letting them catch both of us!” Besides, the white griffin might have caught her, but it wouldn't keep her: for a deer or a catfish there might be no escape, no matter how the griffin's prey kicked or thrashed, but Bessie had a knife, and she slashed fiercely at the talons holding her. Screeching, the white griffin let go, and Bessie fell, into the clouds.

Infuriated by the loss of its prey, the white griffin shrieked and circled, its great white wings fighting the fierce winds. Peering over the edge, Amelia saw a brief bright flash in the shadow of the City, and could have sworn she heard a faint meow. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs as she clung tight to the parapet. The catsfoot charm… and Bessie had taken the other one with her!

Further down the wall, the Commander stood on the parapet, leaning out over the pewter depths. “Never mind,” he said, and grinned horribly at Amelia. “I suspect it's
you
who's got the crown squirrelled away somewhere anyway.” He stood there quite fearlessly with his back to open sky and racing clouds – it would be so easy to conjure up a strong gust of wind and send him into the same abyss that had swallowed Bessie… But then he jumped down onto the path, and the opportunity was gone. Forgetting revenge, Amelia blinked out of sight, dodging the Commander and sprinting for the place where they'd climbed up onto the walkway. She clambered back over the inner side of the Wall, with her head swimming at the hazy sight of the City spread out so far below, and climbed down the iron ladder. Here she dropped her invisibility spell before it could drain too much of her power – surely he could guess easily enough that she'd disappeared back the way she'd come, but after that… even Amelia didn't know where she was going to go. She'd been relying on the second catsfoot charm to escape the doomed City, and she'd fled the windy Walltop walkway out of fear of succumbing to the same fate as Bessie, with nothing to save
her
from the fall. She still wore some of the White Queen's armour, but couldn't be sure it would save her from such a long fall, and didn't dare try and find out. Nor had she had much chance to improve her levitation. Her plans had hinged on staying with Bessie, and Bessie was gone. The clock ticked on regardless of Amelia's ruined plans. She couldn't even be sure which way they'd come: every rooftop of Ilgrevnia spread out before her, faded in the haze of rain. There was the needle figure of the Keystone; there, the place where an enormous chunk of the Wall had fallen away; and
there
, almost beyond view, the bulk of the main gates. But what good did it do her to know that? Her breathing became rapid and shallow – she was about to be captured again, and this time there would be no ally to help her escape. She would die along with Prince Archalthus and the others when the clock struck seven and Ilgrevnia fell from the skies…

Commander Breaker came down the forbidden stairway shortly after Amelia, but by this point she'd entered the narrow channels between the wooden shacks and weed-filled old vegetable gardens. If she could get away from the Commander and his griffin, she'd at least have some breathing space to think of another way out. The walls closed in around her, stifling her in cold dampness and the smell of rotting vegetation. The boards beneath her feet creaked and sagged alarmingly: she thought the people who had tended these roof gardens must have been very small. With the rain falling heavier, the boards were slippery with wet fallen leaves – she hardly dared run and risk a fall that would end on the street twenty feet below, but she had no time to lose, and it was vital she keep whatever lead she had. She heard heavy footsteps close behind, but at least the white griffin would find it difficult to snatch her up from here. Clambering, scrabbling, she went through the weed-choked alleyways like a mouse through a maze, but as she scurried along, something snagged one of her long braids. Pulled off balance, she crashed to the floor with a shriek, grazing her hands and knees. She turned to try and wrench her hair from where it had snagged, only to find the Commander holding onto her braid. “It's back to the dungeons for
you
, Rapunzel,” he sneered, “and then you can tell us where you've hidden the crown.”

Amelia scrambled to her feet, grabbing the length of braid between them and trying to yank it back. “You've got bigger things to worry about than finding the crown,” she blurted out, “Ilgrevnia's going to fall!”

“Is that so?”

“I mean it! There's a… a
Device
in the Archmage's workshop – it has to be stopped!” Then, in desperation: “If you won't listen to me, then maybe the prince will. Archalthus!” she shouted, and the Commander lunged at her, trying to cover her mouth, but Amelia bit him fiercely on the hand, relieved at least to find that he was not made of stone like the others. Her conjuring rings burned hot, a step ahead of her conscious thought. The weather was too wet for a full magical conflagration, but the sparks for one still danced in time with Amelia's will, strong enough that when she shoved a hand in his face, the Commander recoiled; letting her go. While he swiped sparks from his hair, Amelia pulled away, shouting “Archalthus!” at the top of her voice. “Archalthus!” The echoes rang loud and clear through the dark and rain-sodden alleyways, bouncing and proliferating from wall to wall: a hundred voices taunting the dragon with his own name.

The Commander had drawn his sword, but kept his distance from Amelia, remembering that he was dealing with a witch; realising that her conjuring rings made for weapons deadlier than any sword. “What did you have to go and do that for?” he shouted at her. “Master
hates
being summoned like that!”

“I'm
trying
to save us all!” Amelia snapped back, irrationally annoyed at his lack of gratitude for it. “Archalthus!” she shouted again. “Come on, you overgrown slowworm!
”

And then the dragon appeared, like a thunderclap out of a summer sky. Smoke rolled in, flowing through the alleyways. “
Impudence!
” the dragon screamed, strings of hot saliva flying from his jaws. “Who has summoned me?” The dragon's claws scrabbled against the walls of the roof gardens and alleyways, but he couldn't pinpoint the origin of the taunting voices, drowned out by the clamouring echoes of his own screams and thunder.

Belatedly, Amelia realised that summoning the dragon might not have been the wisest course of action; that Commander Breaker might know his Master better than she did. She stifled a coughing fit from the smoke, but all that was left for it was to go ahead with her new plan. “Look under the Orb!” she shouted, and the face of the dragon appeared above the alleyway, golden eyes blazing as if lit by a fire within. “There's a Device set to destroy the node, any minute now! Ask the griffins if you don't believe me!”

The dragon roared, and Amelia cowered as the great claws ripped wood and flimsy brickwork apart around her… and then she was falling. Almost before she could scream, she hit the deck and it knocked the wind out of her. She looked up, through the ragged hole in the ceiling, just in time to see the dragon thrashing skyward, clumsy and unmajestic, long unused to flight. He was returning to the palace. Amelia picked herself up and performed a quick inventory of arms and legs. Archalthus might find and stop the Device in time, or he might not – either way, Amelia must take the opportunity to make her own escape from Ilgrevnia. She ran invisible through the grey streets, with one last hope in mind.

~

Amelia’s side ached and her throat was raw. The wind whipped the stinging rain against her face. She began to think she might have to lie down and accept death, in whatever form it might come for her. She'd spent too long trailing around after Bessie in the misguided hope that the girl knew where she was going. She'd paid too little attention to where they'd been… but something in her must have been paying attention, for she found it again: the magic shop; the one open door in a row of boarded up archways. The rack of brooms against the wall immediately caught her eye, but even in such peril she shied away from the thought of flying one of them. Instead, she turned to the wall of fluttering colourful paper charms, half-charred by Bessie's earlier attack. Under the glow of a hastily summoned light spell, Amelia scanned for the particular pale blue of a catsfoot charm, but couldn't find it, and didn't have time to search for anything else there that might help her. In desperation she turned to the rack of brooms, lifting one at random and running out into the street with it. She put on the accompanying goggles from the set. The brooms didn't come with instructions, but she'd seen pictures of witches riding broomsticks in her storybooks, and how complicated could it be?

“Come on, come on,” she muttered to the broom, “I know you want to fly!” It had the same unearthly lightness she remembered from before, but it didn't seem to want to go anywhere in particular. She remembered Bessie's advice on the rooftops. “Take a run at it?” It couldn't hurt to try. With the broom between her knees and both hands on the leather grip, she charged down the street, thinking light thoughts as hard as she could.

Then, all of a sudden, her feet were barely scuffing the cobblestones, and a moment later she was two or three feet above the street: she'd done it! She'd got airborne! She dodged a hanging shop sign, leaning hard right… and then found that she couldn't
stop
leaning right, soon hanging upside down from the speeding broom, gripping with her white-knuckled hands and her legs. She wrestled the thing under control more by luck than judgement, and pulled the handle of the broom up so that it climbed higher, above the perilous obstacle course of the rooftops. From this height, she could see the clock above the main gates – the time she had remaining really was coming down to minutes now…

Something huge and white swept out of the rain, barrelling past her and throwing her off course. Lucky for Amelia the broom flew more by intuition than anything – she righted herself quickly, let go the leather grip with one hand and (the broom rolled again, but she'd half-expected that) she still managed to fire off a fistful of sparks in the general direction of the white griffin. She fired a better shot, and the griffin screeched, but in the rain the fireball had fizzled to almost nothing before it could reach its target. Amelia would have to either outfly the griffin, or hold her nerve and let it close enough for her to hit it.