The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2) (15 page)

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

There was mutiny at the breakfast table.

“But why not?” Woad demanded sulkily.

“Because I said so!” Mr Drover replied for the hundredth time, around a mouthful of ham and eggs.

“But it’s not fair.” The faun stabbed his gammon fiercely. They had discovered it was one of the few human foods he did not approach with distaste and open suspicion, as long as Hestia did not overcook it.

Karya, who was sitting opposite the faun in the sunny yellow breakfast room, sipping orange juice and scanning the morning papers, looked up calmly with a raised eyebrow. “I’m inclined to agree with Woad, Mr Drover. Robin has been like a prisoner up here, albeit a very luxurious and well-cared-for one. Since we returned from the Netherworlde in January, he hasn’t been anywhere beyond the grounds.” She laid her glass on the table. “Except for the lake, I suppose. Sanctuary or not, it doesn’t matter how wonderful Erlking is, I’m not surprised if he would be inclined to climb the walls.”

“It’s hardly like the house is being attacked every other day by dark forces!” Woad agreed, pointing a forkful of gammon at Henry’s father. It wobbled tenuously. “The last person who came at all was the postman two weeks ago, and Henry will be back from his jolly days soon. If Pinky is going to get out of the house, even just for one teeny-tiny day, it’s now or never.”

“‘Holidays’, Woad, not ‘jolly days’,” Karya corrected him dutifully.

Woad shook his hair out of his eyes and looked hopelessly at Robin, who was sitting at the far end of the table pretending not to listen. Robin buried his nose deeper into the book he had brought down with him, ‘Hammerhand’s Netherworlde Compendium’. Calypso was not the kind of tutor to set homework, but he was trying to learn more about the Netherworlde anyway. His aunt had suggested he look into it as a little ‘light reading’ between studying. There was a lot of history involving complicated wars and treaties, and towns and creatures Robin had never heard of. At the moment, he was using the book as an excuse not to be drawn into the argument again.

“It doesn’t matter, Woad,” Robin said quietly, ducking his head behind the pages until only a few tufts of blond hair peeked above the cover. “Leave it.”

“You bet my blue butt it does!” Woad cried, outraged.

“Language!” Mr Drover grumbled. “Look…” He set down his fork in a runny egg yolk. “I know it must be hard, lad, being cooped up here at Erlking. But there’s good reason for it, and there are worse places to be cooped up, young Master Robin, believe me.” He smiled sympathetically.

Robin had been hearing this exchange back and forth for the last few days, ever since Mr Drover had mentioned that Henry’s birthday was approaching. Woad had been constantly trying to wear Mr Drover and Aunt Irene down at every possible opportunity to allow Robin to go down into the village to be allowed to buy a present. Robin had since discovered that when the faun got an idea, he was like a dog with a bone. This was at least the tenth time they’d had this conversation in the last four days.

Robin knew full well that his guardians had good reasons for keeping him in the safety of Erlking and he had been enjoying himself lately, despite the punishing training schedule of his tutor, but deep down, if he was honest, he was longing for a wander outside his boundaries. But there was no moving Mr Drover. He was resolute.

“I’m not your father, lad,” he muttered to Robin. “But I feel responsible for you just as much as I do for my own boy. Unless your aunt allows it, there’s no point badgering me anymore.”

Woad thudded his head onto the tabletop, making everyone’s drinks wobble. “But you could speak to Pinky’s scary aunt,” he muttered into the tablecloth. “She would listen to you. She holds you in high up steam.”

“High esteem,” Karya corrected absently. “Irene does appear to value your counsel, Mr Drover,” she agreed, going back to her newspaper.

Mr Drover shook his head ruefully. “I doubt very much that a lady like your Aunt Irene, Robin, has ever had her mind changed against her will. If you want a day off, you’d need to take it up directly with the lady of the house. I’m just the gardener.”

After breakfast, Karya disappeared in search of Calypso, with whom she wished to consult over old Undine and nymph dialects. As this sounded like something so boring that Robin and Woad may actually die, they declined to accompany her. Instead, Robin and the faun wandered up to the tiny observatory room at the front of the house which held a large brass telescope and here they took turns looking down into the valley at the distant roofs of the village of Barrowood. The stone buildings shimmered in the summer heat haze. The place was so unreachable for Robin, it may as well have been the mirage it appeared to be.

“It’s not much of a village,” Woad muttered. “Not like the villages in the Netherworlde. I can’t even see any gallows. But at least it would be a change of view for you, wouldn’t it, Pinky? Erlking can’t be a Scion’s prison forever. What are they going to do? Keep you locked up here, rattling around like some old ghost?” The faun looked cautiously at Robin, a frown on his brow. “Do they want revenants? ‘Cause that’s how you get revenants.”

Robin twirled the telescope around to look at tiny sheep on the distant hills. They looked like cotton balls.

“I know,” he said. “It doesn’t matter though, Woad, not really, I like it here. Henry will be back soon, and I’ve got you and Karya.”

And he did love it. Erlking Hall was a wondrous place. He was lucky to live here. But if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind a daytrip out. What he really wanted, in the secret compartments of his heart, was another trip to the Netherworlde, but that was even less likely to be allowed, considering how many different ways he had almost died last time they were there. But the village? That seemed reasonable. One day away from his lessons, free of responsibility.

“You’ve always got me, dumbasaurus,” Woad said, rolling his eyes. “And Boss too, ‘course, when she’s not too busy.” As though this settled everything. “Henryboy is going to have a super boring birthday if we can’t get him a decent present.”

Robin watched the few high white clouds scuttle over the moors through the telescope. Their shadows rolling beautifully over the hilltops.

“Have you even asked your aunt?” Woad needled, refusing to let the matter drop.

Robin stared at the faun. “Are you serious? Those eyes could burn right through me! I don’t want to push my luck.” What would he even say? ‘Hi Aunt Irene. I know you’ve devoted every ounce of your time and energy to keeping me safe here from nasty things, but do you mind if I just pop out for a bit? There’s a Sainsbury’s down in the village I’m just dying to see!’

Woad sighed again and collapsed bonelessly onto the deep window ledge, his tail swishing angrily. “I bet that miserable old housekeeper at least would be on our side. She’d love to get us all out from under her feet, if only for an afternoon.”

Robin couldn’t help but agree with that. Hestia had been complaining even more than usual lately, mainly about Woad and inexplicable patches of ink turning up everywhere.

Robin had already resigned himself. There was simply no way he was going to raise the subject with his aunt. Just like with the chess pieces in the library set, there was no chance.

His lesson the following day, practical casting in the atrium with Calypso was exhausting. The nymph had sat on the wooden table with her legs dangling, crossed at the ankle, as she idly watched Robin move water around. He was finally becoming more proficient, and could make the liquid leap back and forth between cups like those novelty fountain shows one gets in Las Vegas. She had now progressed him to the next stage, which was to alter the state of the water to ice or steam in mid-flow. This was mind-bendingly difficult, and so far Robin had only achieved slushies and ice-headaches. Calypso idly toyed with a strand of her long pale hair while she watched Robin’s efforts. At the end of the lesson, when his legs felt weak as jelly and his vision was just beginning to darken at the edges, she announced, seemingly out of nowhere, that in her opinion, they all deserved a rest.

“You have come a long way, my student Scion,” she announced brightly at the end of the gruelling lesson. “Or possibly several short ways all piled together, which nevertheless make for the same.” She crossed one of the many windows, looking out over Erlking’s domain. “I think after your human friend returns and you have celebrated with him this strange mortal tradition of congratulating each other on having continued to exist for a further year, there will be much for us to do.” She glanced back at him. “You are still terribly poor at control, and your form is shockingly bad.”

Robin raised his eyebrows. He was used to her blithe bluntness by now. “But you are better than you were,” she allowed gracefully. “A boy your age needs to recharge his marbles, does he not?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or too much work will make you lose your batteries?”

Robin smiled. “It’s the other way around. But I know what you mean.” It would be nice not to fall asleep exhausted every night for a while, and have his mana stone feel light for once and not like a lump of granite.

“I am given to understand…” Calypso said with hesitant enquiry, as together they descended the winding stairs back to the house proper. “ … That you and your faun have been getting itchy feet of late.”

“He’s not my faun,” Robin said automatically. “He’s his own faun.”

“If that faun is anyone’s, it is yours, I’m afraid,” she said. “You wish for freedom from Erlking?”

“Well, we’ve been talking about it, yeah,” Robin said wistfully. “I’d love to go down to the village, just for a look around, but I don’t reckon Aunt Irene would go for it.”

They had reached the corridor where Calypso always left Robin after practical lessons to go and do whatever it was she entertained herself with.

She stopped by a marble bust of what appeared to be a cyclops perched on a tall pillar, her elegant hand, with fingernails like pink seashells resting on the banister. She looked at Robin thoughtfully a moment. “I will have a word with your aunt if you like. See what I can do. I can see no harm in a quick trip, not if you are wearing your wards and have your wits about you. There seems no imminent danger, and you would not be alone. Safety in numbers and so on. As long as the proper preparations are made.”

Robin’s heart leapt. He knew from experience that Calypso apparently had no real concept of imminent danger anyway, but he was hopeful. Seeing the expression on the boy’s face, she held up a hand in warning. “Now, don’t go getting excited!” she warned. “You’ve just spent an afternoon using all your mana and are liable to faint like a Victorian girl in a violet dress! I am promising nothing.” Her face sobered. “The decision of course, will rest with your rather formidable aunt. But I think … yes … a small reward in is order for your diligence to learning your second Tower. You have come a long way. I shall suggest it to her, and we shall see, that is all I’m saying.”

Robin thanked Calypso several hundred times, and while the nymph went off to find Aunt Irene, Robin ran off in search of Karya and Woad.

At dinner that evening, Aunt Irene looked Robin levelly in the eyes over a bowl of carrot and cream soup.

“It has been brought to my attention, Robin, by both Mr Drover and your tutor, that there appears to be a strange noise in the house.”

Robin looked up. Across the table, Woad paused with a soup spoon halfway to his mouth, and Mr Drover glanced at them all darkly. By the sideboard, there was a rattle of cutlery from Hestia as she laid out the main course.

“A … noise?” Robin asked

“Yes,” she replied dryly. “A constant drone one might say. It appears that the only way to remedy this, and to bring some level of peace back to Erlking, is to remove, for a very brief span of time, the source.”

Robin and Karya exchanged confused glances. Woad started folding his napkin into various rude origami shapes and blinked at them both.

“I have some errands tomorrow,” Irene continued. “Parcels which need dropping at the Post Office down in the village.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Mr Drover, unfortunately, is needed here. The snapping foxgloves in the eastern gardens are encroaching rather dangerously on the henhouses, and need to be cut back, so I wondered if perhaps you…” She glanced at Woad also. “The two of you, would run down for me?”

Robin grinned. Woad’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Irene did not appear to notice any of this. “You may, of course, have a short look around while you are in the village, perhaps you could pick out something nice for young Henry’s birthday, but, and I want this understood most plainly…” She paused. “I want you both back in the house within the hour. Or there shall be … words.”

Woad gave Robin a look which suggested that ‘words’ was secret old lady code for being chased with a poker, but Robin was too happy to care.

“I would insist, of course…” Irene said. “ … That you indulge an old lady and wear that charming horseshoe chain I bestowed upon you. Think of it as a good luck charm.”

Robin promised he would, and thanked his aunt profusely. He didn’t need telling not to talk to strangers.

That evening, they all lounged around Robin’s room. Their main topic of conversation was how on earth to get Woad down to the village without people staring. Bright blue skin stood out a little.