The Ghost Roads (Ring of Five) (23 page)

“Please, Dixie,” Toxique said, “for me.”

“What does your gift say?” Dixie looked at him.

“It anticipates you’re going to get whacked in the puss,” Les said, waiting for the entertainment to begin. Dixie gave him a sour look but gamely put up her hands.

Duddy began to sing:

On the “see, see, see,” Duddy dealt Dixie three fast hard slaps again. Dixie turned away, her cheeks burning.

“Sorry, dear,” Duddy said, “but you did ask. It always struck me as rather a cruel game.”

“Well, that was helpful,” Les said sarcastically. Vandra said nothing, but Toxique was playing the game as if against an invisible opponent and muttering to himself.

“Come on, Toxique, let’s go,” Les said. “The dead have got the kettle on for us.”

“Don’t joke,” Vandra said with a shudder.

From the main building, cold eyes watched the group. The endgame was at hand, let the chips fall as they may.

The cadets made their way to Ravensdale, where leaves blew down the main street.

“I don’t ever remember
weather
in Ravensdale before,” Les said. A cloud of leaves fluttered past, and from the middle came a solitary caw. The cadets walked on, but Vandra hesitated. Something had caught her healer’s ear.

“Wait,” she said.

“It’s only one of the ravens,” Dixie said. “Come on, I’m starving.”

“No,” Vandra said, “you go on. I want to find it.”

“Give it a break,” Les said, but Toxique was looking at Vandra.

“I’ll help you look,” he said. “I’m not all that hungry.” Les threw his eyes to heaven, but he turned back to help.

It didn’t take long. They spotted a pile of leaves against one side of the building, and from it, a raven emerged, dragging one wing behind it. It staggered as though drunk and fell back as the wind caught it.

“Oh, the poor thing!” Dixie exclaimed. Les caught Vandra’s eye. The ravens were subtle, intelligent and sometimes cruel in pursuit of their own ends. None of the cadets had ever heard one referred to as “poor thing.”

Nevertheless, the bird was in trouble, tumbling backward as though it had to contend with invisible winds as well as the gusts blowing through Ravensdale.

“Looks like poison to me,” Toxique said. No one argued. Les took his coat off to throw it over the bird, but Vandra shook her head.

“Careful, Vandra,” Toxique warned. A blow from a raven’s beak was severe at the best of times, but if that beak carried toxins, contact could be fatal. But Vandra didn’t flinch. She knelt down and stretched her hands out. The stricken bird fought to move toward her, its legs barely able to carry it. And when she gathered it up, it lay still and trusting in her arms. Vandra stroked its feathers. There were tears in her eyes.

“I cannot heal you,” she said. “I can only give to humans.” She was aware of Dixie standing beside her.

“Let me have a look,” Toxique said.

“In a moment. She’s a mother, I reckon,” Dixie said. The raven cawed faintly. “Give her to me.”

Vandra hesitated, then handed the bird to Dixie. Dixie looked down at the raven, closed her eyes and disappeared.

The others waited for Dixie to reappear—her Quality of Indeterminate Location never took her far.

This time was different.

“We need to go looking for her,” Les said after many long moments. Vandra shook her head.

“She’ll come back to this place. What if we’re not here?” So they waited.

In the end Dixie did reappear by the gable wall of the
Consiglio dei Diece, the cadets’ dining house. She was breathing hard.

“What is it?” Vandra said.

“Whatever it is, we need to move,” Les said. There were voices coming up the road toward them, and among them he could hear Exspectre’s reedy tones.

“Come with me,” Dixie said. Her voice was sad and serious. They followed her up the road leading into the heart of the village, and soon the voices of the other cadets had faded into the darkness behind them.

They reached the gallows that stood at the crossroads in the middle of the village. Les kept his head down and would not look at it. Vandra realized that none of them had ever entered the dark streets beyond.

As soon as they left the dim light of the crossroads, they knew they were in a different place.

“How come we never came up here before?” Les whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Toxique said.

Les shrugged. “Just don’t feel like talking out loud.” And in truth, none of them did. There was an ancient feel to the place. The houses were tall and gaunt, and through a window here and there they caught sight of beautiful silk drapes shot through with holes, covered in dust. There were gilded ceilings and great portraits, but none of the houses looked as if they had been lived in for many, many years.

“What happened to the people who lived here?” Vandra wondered. The empty houses provided no answer.

Dixie led them on, her white dress ghostly in the dim
light. Her silence was enough to make them a little bit uneasy. Normally she was full of chatter, but she had fallen under the spell of the place.

“This looks like the posh part of town,” Les said. “Good thieving territory!”

“Shut up, Les,” Vandra said.

They found themselves walking along a canal. Tall buildings leaned over the water and into each other, almost ready to topple into the dark waters. Mist drifted up from the water, wreathing them as they walked.

“I’d no idea any of this was here,” Vandra whispered. They passed what had once been gaily colored canal boats, now sunk in the ooze. The path in front of them was blocked with debris, so they crossed an ornate little footbridge, Dixie moving with determination in front.

Finally they came to rusty wrought iron railings running down to the canal. Beyond the railings there were overgrown lawns leading up toward a gloomy, shuttered mansion. The gates of the mansion hung sagging on their hinges.

The cadets pushed through after Dixie.

“This is the place,” she said. “When I disappeared earlier, I could feel the raven guiding me. Hurry!”

They followed her up the potholed driveway. The house loomed above them. As they neared, they could see that the paint was peeling and some of the glass panes were broken.

“Round the side,” Dixie said. They followed her, walking past tumbledown coach houses and servants’ quarters.

“There,” Dixie said, pointing at a strange tower, a tall, tottering structure of stone that had no doors or windows. Instead, along its walls were hundreds of little nooks in rows. And somehow the group sensed that in each nook, there was something living, breathing.

“What is it?” Les whispered.

“I know,” Toxique said. He was breathing hard. The ghost town they had passed through had spooked him, but he kept his emotions under control. “It’s a dovecot,” he said. “We have one at Toxique Towers. They used to keep pigeons in it—they’d use them to send messages.”

Vandra approached the foot of the tower. There were a dozen ravens on the ground, all moving feebly, smaller than the ravens they normally saw. Faint caws came from the tower above.

Vandra lifted a small shape from the ground. It was a baby raven. It opened its beak, but no sound came out.

“They’ve all been poisoned,” Toxique said.

“Could be a disease or something,” Les said. Toxique shook his head. Scattered on the ground around the tower were many half-eaten potatoes. Taking out a handkerchief and covering his hand, he lifted one and smelled it.

“There’s a yeasty smell. Birds are susceptible to molds and mildews. Someone has taken a naturally occurring mold that grows on potatoes and developed it into an avian neurotoxin.”

“Pardon?” Les said.

“A bird poison. Something they might see, like a bit of mold on old potatoes, but wouldn’t pay any attention to.”

“These are all mothers and babies,” Dixie cried. “We have to save them!”

“I can’t do anything,” Vandra said.

Toxique frowned. “I don’t know bird poisons. I’m not familiar with the way a bird’s system works.”

“You have to do something,” Dixie said. “Look at the poor little things!”

“If I can synthesize the poison from the potato, find out what it is, maybe I can find an antidote, but I need a lab.”

“Where are all the males?” Vandra said. “The mothers and babies don’t have any protection.”

“I don’t know. Gather up as many of those potatoes as you can, but don’t touch them. The poison is meant for birds, but we better not take any chances.”

“Where’d Les go?” Dixie asked.

“I don’t know. Come on. These birds don’t have all day.”

For the next ten minutes they gathered as many of the potatoes as they could, noticing that they had an odd greenish hue.

“That looks promising,” Toxique said, “but I really need a lab!”

“Would a kitchen do?” Les had reappeared, a little dusty.

“Where?”

“I broke into the big mansion. There’s a massive kitchen in the basement. Hasn’t been used for a long time, but there’s a stove all set with logs and ready to go.”

“It’ll have to do,” Toxique said.

They clambered through the back window where Les had forced the latch and found themselves in a big old-fashioned kitchen. There were Tilley lamps and lanterns hanging from hooks and Dixie soon had them all lit, flitting around the kitchen at speed. Les got the big black stove burning while Toxique collected glassware and Vandra gathered up all the young ravens she could find. She put them in wooden crates she found stacked at the back door and placed them around the stove. The heat, when it came, seemed to help the birds a little. Some of them moved their wings weakly.

Toxique moved so quickly that only Vandra was able to keep up with him. Dixie and Les watched for a while; then Les whispered, “Fancy exploring this place?” Dixie nodded.

“One condition, though,” she said. “No stealing.”

“Scout’s honor,” Les said, with an expression of such innocence that Dixie nearly burst out laughing.

They sneaked out of the room and went up a small servants’ stairway. They took the first door they came to and found themselves in a great hall with oak paneling and portraits hung all around.

“This is pretty nobby,” Les said. “Shall we dance, my lady?” He turned the handle of an old-fashioned record player and the strains of a waltz sounded through the hallway. Dixie frowned.

“Too spooky,” she said. It made her think of long-forgotten balls, carriages pulling up on the gravel, beautiful ladies and handsome men, all now gone and turned to dust. She could practically hear the laughter, the clink of
glasses, the whirr of fans, the brush of crinolines on polished wood.…

There was silence. Les had lifted the needle off the record.

“That was weird,” he said. “I felt as if I was really at a ball or something.”

“Me too,” Dixie said. “Really strange.”

Les picked up a tennis racket from a rack beside the great door. Suddenly he could smell cut grass, hear the pock of tennis balls being struck. Meanwhile, Dixie had lifted a silver candlestick from the sideboard and heard the clink of knife and fork on plate, the murmur of diners’ conversations.

“What is this place?” Dixie said. Les picked up a dance card and once again heard music, a waltz this time. The heading on the dance card read
The Hall of Memories Annual Ball
.

“The Hall of Memories.” Les gazed around. “I wonder if they built it deliberately, or did the walls start to absorb memories?”

“Goodness knows,” Dixie said. Then, in a tremulous voice, she called, “Mum?”

Les heard a soft musical voice:
“Tidy up your toys, dear, it’s time for bed.”

The voice faded away. Dixie looked stunned. Les put his hand on her arm.

“Maybe you shouldn’t think of things like that, Dixie.” Her face glistened with tears.

“It was her, Les. It was really her. I remember that night.”

“Then remember this, Dixie: we’ve got to make sure that no other children lose their mums and dads like we did.” He drew her gently out of the great, sad hall. “Come on,” he said, leading her up a great staircase. “Let’s explore a bit more. Did your mum and dad do that disappearing thing you do? I bet it must have been really funny in your house.…” Les prattled on in a kindly way, trying to distract Dixie from her sorrow, leading her farther into the depths of the strange old house.

I
n the mansion’s kitchen, Toxique was frowning. He had tried every compound he could make in the primitive lab he had built, but none worked. The boxes of fledgling ravens around the stove made him desperately aware of the urgency of the situation.

“You have to do something,” Vandra said.

“There is something …,” Toxique said slowly, “but it isn’t guaranteed, and the price is high.”

“What?” Vandra demanded.

“I need to examine the body of a dead raven, carry out an autopsy, see which organs are affected.”

“But I haven’t seen any dead ravens yet,” Vandra said.

“And by the time they start to die, it will be too late,” Toxique said. Vandra absorbed what her friend had said, her eyes wide.

“You can’t mean … But it’s the ravens, Toxique. You wouldn’t dare … I mean …”

“Not even if it would save them?” Toxique’s face was somber.

“You couldn’t,” Vandra said. Toxique laughed mirthlessly.

“I am an assassin, remember?”

“You are and you are not,” Vandra said. “To do such a thing would haunt you for the rest of your days.” She bowed her head. “It will be me. They will never forgive me, but there is no choice.”

“No,” Toxique said. “You are a healer.”

Neither of them had seen the mother raven who had summoned them. She had dragged herself into the kitchen and painfully climbed through the shadows onto one of the rafters. She cocked her head to one side as she listened to Vandra and Toxique. If she hadn’t been looking down on a box containing her own chicks, drawn up by the stove, you would have thought she was laughing.