The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) (22 page)

Whoosh, whoosh
, a puff of breeze gave him an extra lift—
leap!
—and then he was flying! Soaring through the air, and at just the precise moment, he cast out his thin rope of web. It hooked over a high twig on the other tree across the river. The stream passed below him.

The next thing he knew, Malwort was pulling himself up by his sticky thread, until, finally—whew! He let out a small sigh of relief, all eight feet securely planted on solid tree.

He paused to collect his thoughts for the next leg of his journey. Then he was distracted, hungrily watching a moth flutter by, but he grumbled to himself.

Must not disappoint Master.
Master would give him good horseflies when his task was done. With that, Malwort repeated the tree climb in reverse. Down and down he hopped, from twig to branch to bough, and then he was marching straight down the trunk with a most determined air. At last, he landed on the ground and pressed on, his eight long legs pattering speedily over the cool grass.

As he neared the stately mansion ahead, he reminded himself not to let any humans see him, for then would surely come the Dreaded Broom. All humans seemed to have them. Oh, he had fled the horrid broom from human hands so many times!

Only Master had been kind to him, had never tried to squash him, but was his friend and gave him juicy flies.

Not that Malwort could not catch them for himself, but it was such a thoughtful gesture, like when somebody gave you a box of chocolates. In any case, now that he was on the property, this had become a full-fledged covert operation. Malwort zigged and zagged across the lawn to avoid detection.

Movement in the shadows sent him zooming into the nearest flowerbed with a small shriek. He trembled as two large animals padded gracefully out of the darkness.

Guard dogs? Malwort wondered. But, no. As they trotted past, sniffing the air, he saw that one was a sleek black panther with glowing greenish-yellow eyes. Its companion was a huge grayish-brown wolf. Then the guardian animals moved on, circling the house.

When they had gone, Malwort jumped nimbly out of the flowerbed and landed on the graveled garden path. He forged up the gently rolling hill on which the mansion sat. It took but a moment for him to reach it, and then he was running up the side of a smooth white wall.

He climbed past the cozy orange windows of the ground floor, glimpsing the old witch Master had told him about playing the harmonium. Malwort saw the old woman standing alone before a table arrayed with crystal goblets filled with different amounts of water; she brushed the rims of the cups with her fingertips, making them sing.

Malwort could feel the tingly vibrations of the music, but he did not pause to listen to the delicate, haunting strains of the harmonium. He had a job to do. Continuing up the wall, he came to the third story, where Master said he’d find the children’s bedrooms. He crept over to the nearest window. Candlelight glowed through the glass.

Someone was awake. Ever so cautiously, he peeked up over the edge of the window frame with all of his ten eyes and looked in. A girl with golden ringlets was reading a book in bed.

When he saw the yellow hair, which Master had told him to look for, Malwort wondered if this was the Jake.

But no, the Jake was a boy. The girl cast an uncertain glance toward the window, as if she could sense him staring at her. Malwort ducked out of sight with a gasp.

Definitely not the Jake!
he scolded himself.

Then he skittered sideways to the next window, and again peered in. A smaller girl with cinnamon hair was asleep with a little dog in her arms like a toy. The terrier lifted his head and perked up his ears, noticing him.
Trouble! Yeeks!
Malwort darted out of view, his heart pounding. Dogs did not have brooms, but they thought it great fun to chase any small thing that crawled—though they were not as bad as cats in that regard. A cat could keep after you all day.
Hate cats!
thought Malwort, trundling on.

The next window, again, had warm light shining through the panes. Malwort approached, peeked in.
That’s a boy.

This one was pacing back and forth before a blackboard in his pajamas, stroking his chin in thought, then rushing to jot down strange notations. But this boy was not the Jake either because of his dark hair.

There had to be a Jake around here somewhere!

At last, he found his target. Peering over the edge of the next window, his many eyes widened to find a boy with straw-colored hair sprawled on the bed.

The Jake!

He was lying on his stomach, his face half-buried in his pillow. Undignified snores escaped his open mouth at regular intervals. Malwort was extremely relieved to find his target fast asleep. It made his mission so much easier.

Even better, the Jake’s window was open a crack to let in the fresh night air. Malwort ducked under the casement and tiptoed across the sill. He glanced nervously around the room. No broom, no dog, no cat. All clear.

He hopped onto the wall and immediately climbed up onto the ceiling, where he was least likely to be noticed.

Feeling very clever indeed for his success so far, he lowered himself straight down from the ceiling, approaching the back of the Jake’s head.
All I have to do is grab one of those hairs…

Hovering on his thread just above the Jake, Malwort stretched his front leg down and carefully lifted one of the yellow strands. He brought it up to his jaws and took it in his mouth so he could hold onto it properly.

He then began to pull the hair, retracting his line of web to help him yank it out of the boy’s head.

The hair stayed planted.

Malwort narrowed his multiple eyes in determination. Again and again, he tried to pull the stubborn hair out, but he could not get any traction like this, hanging from the ceiling. He cursed to himself in his native spider language but finally saw this was not going to work. He spat the hair out and landed on the boy’s pillow behind the Jake’s big head.

Humph! Malwort rubbed his two front feet together as he considered his approach.
‘Get a good, long hair from the front,’
Master had instructed.
‘We need a good sample. One of those short-clipped hairs in the back won’t be enough for Ugly Stink Witch to make the potion.’

Yessss, Master, Malwort thought. He was frightened of waking the Jake and ending up with the broom, but somehow, he would have to be brave.

He took a deep breath, then hopped onto the Jake’s shoulder. Once more, he reached out and caught a strand over his front foot and lifted it to his mouth.

He began to pull. Planting his feet on the boy’s shoulder, he pulled and pulled at the hair for all he was worth.
Almost…have it!

Suddenly, a giant hand came out of nowhere as the Jake swatted at the tickle on his shoulder, clumsy with sleep. Malwort jumped, keeping hold of the hair, and hurrah! The thing yanked free. The Jake muttered “Ow” in his sleep and moved his hand vaguely toward his forehead, where the hair had been extracted. Thankfully, he did not get up to investigate, but brushed his blond forelock back from his brow and buried his face in his pillow once more.

Malwort was already running for his life with the single blond hair trailing out behind him.

Down the outside wall of the mansion he fled, clutching the hair in his jaws, back across the lawn to the tree that stood by the river. Again he performed the gymnastics needed to launch himself back to the other side of the stream, racing back to the lilac bush where Master was still hiding.

All his jeopardy and dread were worth it to hear his beloved Master say, “Oh, Malwort, you are a prince among spiders! Well done, my noble arachnid!”

Master patted him on the back and then lifted him safely back into his pocket, where Malwort flopped onto his belly, worn out, all eight knees weak with relief.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

How To Be An Earl

Jake had much to learn, and his training over the next few days covered more than simply how to use his powers. There were also constant corrections on his speech and grammar and lessons in how to be civil, how to bow properly, eat, dress, walk, and what to say to new people he might meet.

There were lessons in family history, a long line of noble ancestors whose portraits hung in Griffon Castle and Bradford Park. There were explanations about his future duties as an earl—and aside from anything having to do with the Order of the Yew Tree, he could already see his responsibilities would be vast.

Aunt Ramona declared he would need a good education to fulfill his role in life. On her orders, Henry spent an afternoon giving Jake little quizzes in different subjects to determine how much he had already learned at the orphanage school.

When this ordeal was finished, the boys’ tutor looked a bit daunted by the challenge of having one student who was a genius and one who was basically a blockhead.

Archie already held two degrees from Oxford, while Jake was years behind. Obviously, he had no foreign languages, no knowledge of literature, art or music, and very little history. Oh, he could read and do simple arithmetic, of course, but school ended for most poor kids at age ten. Then it was off to get a job.

What Jake
had
was a lot of street smarts and a familiarity with the darker side of how to survive. Aunt Ramona noted this and decided that the
most
important aspect of his training would have to do with his “moral development.”

She was a hard one, the old bird. She made him give a tally of how much money’s worth of goods he’d stolen from various merchants so that he could pay it back—with a face-to-face apology. He was not looking forward to that.

Derek’s part of the training was the most fun. Each day, the warrior took him down to Griffon Castle and worked with him on how to control his telekinesis so he would not get so nauseous afterwards.

Sometimes Archie came along and Derek made the boys run races, jump hurdles, and carry heavy objects up and down the driveway. He had them climb trees while he timed them, and run along the top rail of pasture fences, telling them to get up and do it again every time one of them fell off. It was exhausting but fun.

Often, by the end of such days, both boys were so worn out that they just sat in Archie’s laboratory laughing idly at the little mechanical robot the young engineer had welded out of brass. “Sprocket” ran on clockwork machinery and steam power, as did most of the other mad devices that Archie had invented.

Meanwhile, Dani was off having fun with Isabelle.

The girls had become inseparable, despite the fact that they came from different worlds. Aunt Ramona still seemed unsure if an O’Dell could ever be a suitable companion for her delicate niece.

Jake had noticed that Dani was terrified of the stern old dragon-lady. She put her head down and became meek and silent whenever Lady Bradford was around.

Otherwise, she was happier and freer than Jake had ever seen her, thriving without her constant toil and the harassment of angry, drunken family members.

She had written to her Da to say she was all right, though for safety’s sake, she was not allowed to say where she was. Jake wondered if the wild O’Dell tribe had worried—or even noticed—when their little carrot-head had failed to come home.

At any rate, she was content so long as Teddy was with her. The terrier spent most of his time lying in a sun patch on the carpet near the girls, relaxing with his paws sprawled.

That didn’t sound half bad to Jake as his training sessions with Derek dragged on. He panted like a shaggy dog on an August afternoon as Derek sparred with him all around the shady terrace behind Griffon Castle.

“You see, Jake, you can’t always use your magic in every situation. Sometimes it comes down to defending yourself in a practical way. Block, boy! I could’ve taken your head off if this was real.”

Jake punched and jabbed at Derek’s open hands and threw in a few kicks at the sides of Derek’s legs for good measure.

“That’s it! Good! Better,” he encouraged him, though he smacked him lightly on the head to show him that he still wasn’t blocking the hits fast enough.

“Don’t quit yet!” Derek liked to goad him to keep him in the game. “Practice that left hook some more and soon you’ll be as good at that as Dani O’Dell.”

Jake snorted and took a swing at him.

Derek laughed and blocked it easily.

Before long, Jake could barely lift his arms anymore, but the Guardian kept coming. The massive warrior did not seem to realize that even when he was only practicing, he was still a bit scary.

As fatigue overtook him, Jake suddenly saw something green and slimy from the corner of his eye and tripped, avoiding it. “Enough!” he gasped out as he fell onto the cool gray flagstones and stayed there, exhausted.

He glanced over to see what he had tripped on, then scowled. “Blast it! These stupid frogs! Why do they keep coming back?”

He and Archie had already caught all the frogs and carried them down to the river’s edge twice.

Derek wiped the sweat off his brow with a pass of his arm. “Maybe they like you.”

“It’s not me. It’s the house! They seem to think they belong here.” Jake sat up, his chest still heaving. “I don’t have the energy to gather them all up again.”

“Ah, leave ‘em for now. We’ve got to go wash up for lunch, anyway.” He reached a hand down to him.

Jake clasped it and Derek pulled him up.

When he jumped to his feet, Derek tousled his sweaty hair. “Good work today, lad.”

“Thanks. I’m starving!”

“What a surprise.”

“Wonder what’s for lunch,” Jake mused aloud as they left the castle grounds and headed back to Bradford Park.

“Couldn’t tell you. Just try to remember all your lessons on table manners from Miss Helena.”

“Ooo-la-la, Miss Helena!”

Derek looked askance at him as they walked through the fields. “Huh. So you think she’s pretty, do you?”

“No, but you do,” Jake shot back as he plucked a piece of tall grass and put it in his teeth. “You should tell her you like her.”