The Shadow at the Gate (60 page)

“What about the Dark?” said Severan. “And the wihht? Creatures like that will find all the secrets first if no one else does. I can’t agree with you. Every word must be sought and found.”

“Didn’t you hear your fellow scholars?” said the hawk. “Some of them don’t even believe in the Dark. While you’re scrabbling after a word here and there, the Dark comes creeping in. It gains strength from the unbelief of men. I would feel much more kindly about wizards if their search for wisdom was chiefly to aid the battle against the Dark.” The hawk hopped up onto the back of Jute’s chair. “We should leave. Now. We should’ve never come here. No bath or bed, I’m afraid, but you’ve had a good meal, so that’s something.”

“I don’t mind about baths,” said Jute, “but I would’ve liked a proper bed. My back feels like a knotted rope from sleeping on the ground. Must we leave? They don’t seem all that bad. Just old. The stew was very good.”

“Old?” Severan bristled at him. “Old? I’ll have you know that there are only three in the Stone Tower who are older than myself.”

“Exactly,” said Jute, who did not mean to be unkind.

Severan scowled and strode to the door. “All right, though I think this place would be just as safe as Harlech. I’ll see about some supplies.”

The door slammed behind him.

“Touchy,” said the hawk.

“He’s been a good friend,” said Jute.

“I’m not saying he hasn’t, but the important thing is getting you to a safe place, not preserving the feelings of our pet wizard. And this tower is not safe.”

“What do you mean?” said Jute. “It seems safe to me. All these wizards, and a great stone building like this out in the middle of nowhere. Why, I couldn’t even see the place because of that warded plant—”

“Lichen.”

“—and besides, even if something did show up here, I’m sure they could just turn it into a frog or something, couldn’t they? After all, they’re wizards.”

“Wizards or not,” said the hawk, “I don’t like this tower. Secrets can’t be kept in this place. All the boys here already know who you are, Jute. Obviously, that fat fool Ablendan could not keep his mouth shut. Turned himself into a mouse. That’s all his learning’s good for. Besides, there’s too much noise here. The whispering in the stone. It makes me nervous.”

“I agree,” said Ronan. He paced back and forth, his brow furrowed. “We shouldn’t have stopped here. There’s plenty of food and shelter in the hills. Even when I was a boy, I knew enough to survive out in the wild. No need to worry on that regard.”

“Oh, all right,” said Jute. “I don’t mind.” He had been looking forward to a proper bed. However, if he had to sleep out in the heather, then that was that. He was finding himself much in awe of Ronan, despite the memory of chimneys and being pushed down them and left for dead.

“Let’s be off,” said the hawk. “At least you’ve had a good lunch. We’ll thank the council, or whatever they call themselves, collect Severan if he desires to continue on to Harlech, and we’ll be off. Back to the open sky.”

 
But when Ronan set his hand on the door, it was locked.

“Confound the old man,” he said. “He’s locked us in.”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” said Jute. “Here, I’ve got a bit of wire.”

“I know how to pick locks, thank you.” Ronan crouched down by the door and fiddled for a while with a thin blade.

“Well?” said the hawk.

Ronan’s face was red. “It’s an odd lock. I can’t find any tumblers.”

“I’ll have a go, then,” said Jute in a pleased tone of voice.

But he could not pick the lock either. It was infuriating.

“Let me have a look,” said the hawk.

“What are you going to do?” said Jute. “Pick it with your beak?”

“Don’t be silly. Just hold me up to the lock so I can touch it. A bit higher. Aha. As I suspected.”

“What?”

“It’s magic, of course. What else would you expect? I doubt there are any of those tumblers you mentioned, whatever they are.”

“Well, then say a spell or something.”

“I’m a hawk. Not a wizard. I don’t know any spells.”

Ronan ran his hand over the door. “Oak. Too stout to break.” He shrugged. “There’s always the window.”

The hawk fluttered over to the sill. “Would you be so kind as to open it? Thank you. Right, then. Let’s be off.”

“There’s one problem.”

“What’s that?” said the bird.

“Neither the boy nor I happens to fly.”

“True. It’s a pity about you, but I think in a pinch the boy can.”

“I can?” said Jute. “No, I can’t. You were going to teach me, but you never did. It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing to it. Just jump.”

“Just jump? That’s it?”

“Luckily, we’re high up. The wind will notice and catch you. Look, if it’s a matter of life and death, the wind will know what to do.”

Jute leaned out the window and glanced down. They were extremely high up. He could see several people down in the courtyard at the foot of the cliff. They looked tiny. “I’m not going to jump.”

“Of course you are,” said the hawk. “The wind won’t let you fall.”

“I don’t know that. I’m not jumping.”

“Well,” said the hawk, eyeing Ronan thoughtfully.

“No. I know what you’re thinking. I’m not about to toss him out the window.” Ronan leaned out of the window also and looked down.

“You’d better not,” said Jute. “It was bad enough when you chucked me down that chimney.”

“Oh, hush,” said the hawk. “If you aren’t willing to try jumping out the window, then you’ll have to climb out and up the cliff.”

“Now that,” said Ronan, “can be done.”

But he spoke too hastily, as he soon discovered, for the surface of the rock was so smooth that he could not get a handhold on it. The lichen itself instantly crumbled into dust at the slightest touch.

“I still think it was just a mistake,” said Jute. “Why don’t we hammer on the door until someone comes and lets us out?”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” said the hawk. “That door was deliberately locked with a spell. I’m not saying Severan’s responsible, but it’s locked. Come now, Jute. Just jump out the window. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“That’s all right for you two if it works,” said Ronan. “But I don’t think the wind will catch me, will it?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the hawk. “But rest assured that you’ve been a great help so far.”

“Look,” said Jute. “There’s a carriage driving up the lane. I could yell and get their attention. Why don’t we do that?

“I’ve a better idea,” said Ronan. He would have explained what his idea was had not Jute shot away from the window like a scalded cat.

“It’s him!” Jute’s face was white.

“What do you mean, it’s him?” said the hawk.

“The wihht!”

Ronan peered over the window casement. Far below, a grand carriage pulled up in the courtyard. It was drawn by four horses and, even at that distance, he could see that they were stamping and blowing, their dark coats streaked with sweat. Someone—the coachman, perhaps—was soothing the lead horse. A cloaked figure stood speaking to several of the older men from the Stone Tower. Ronan could almost make out the faces of the older men—at least, the tops of their balding heads—but he could see only the hood of the cloaked man.

“It’s odd to be going around cloaked and hooded on a sunny day,” said Ronan. “But that doesn’t mean he’s your wihht.”

“He’s not
my
wihht and it certainly
is
him,” said Jute. He crept over to Ronan’s side and peeked down. “I can feel it. It’s him, I tell you.”

As if he had heard these words, the cloaked figure looked up at that moment. Even at that great distance, there was no mistaking the pale features of the man who had once been Nio Secganon. It was too far to tell, but it seemed as though a smile crossed the man’s face. He and the other men disappeared from view as they entered the Stone Tower.

“Burn the crows,” growled the hawk. “How’d he find us here? The Dark’s at work, and there’s no mistake about that. Jute, you’ll have to jump and that’s all there is to it.”

“But I can’t,” said poor Jute. “What if it doesn’t work? What if he’s waiting down below?”

“What if? What if?” said the hawk. “What if the stars fall from the sky and land on your head?”

“I’ve another idea,” said Ronan. “Quickly now!”

Ronan’s plan didn’t seem much more reassuring than the hawk’s. It involved dangling Jute out the window via two knotted together sheets. “And then,” said Ronan, “I’ll swing you back and forth until you grab the railing of that balcony down there. Then you can find your way back up here and open the door for us from the outside.”

“Not a bad idea,” said the hawk. “Assuming the spell’s only to keep the door locked from the inside. I still think throwing him out the window is the best plan.”

“But what if the balcony’s locked and I can’t get in?”

“We’ll have to chance that,” said Ronan.

“But what if I get lost and can’t find my way back up to this room?”

“Oh, stop complaining.”

In no time at all, Jute was dangling out the window at the end of the knotted sheets. Above him, Ronan’s face slowly turned red with the strain of trying to get Jute swinging.

“Don’t drop me!” said Jute.

“Don’t tempt me. Kick your legs out at the end of each swing. No! Blast it! Not now! Wait until you’re nearing the end of the arc. Good. That’s better.”

The balcony grew closer with each successive swing. However, it became apparent that it was just out of reach, even at the end of the widest swing, and Ronan’s arms were growing tired.

“You’re going to have to jump!” he called down.

“Yes, and perhaps you’ll miss,” said the hawk unkindly. “That’ll teach you a thing or two, despite your unbelief.”

“All right then,” said Jute, gulping hard. “On the next swing. No, the next. One, two, here I go!”

Jute let go of the sheet and went sailing through the air. For one sickening second, he thought he had misjudged the distance and that he was about to discover the truth, or lack of truth, in the hawk’s claim. But then he grabbed onto the railing, wrenching his arms badly, and dangled for a moment from the side of the balcony, gasping and sweating.

To Jute’s relief, the balcony door was not locked. He opened it and found himself in what looked like someone’s study. At any other time, he would have been delighted at being in such a place, for it was full of interesting things just waiting to be stolen. A desk in one corner was piled with books and the shelves were crammed with more books, odd-looking skulls, boxes carved of bone, silver candlesticks, and bottles and jars of all sorts of substances. Several paintings leaned in one corner, covered over with a blanket. The outside one, however, was not completely covered, and he glimpsed a face staring from behind the blanket. A nasty looking face. Its eyes were staring at him.

“I’m not bothering you,” said Jute, but the skin on the back of his neck prickled.

He eased open another door into a gloomy passageway lined with other doors, all closed. For the life of him, he wasn’t sure whether to go left or right. Footsteps pattered down the passage and Jute shrank back into the doorway. A figure bobbed into view and he saw that it was the small boy from the stairs. The boy was hurrying along with his head down and didn’t see Jute until he was quite close.

“Oh!” said the boy, jumping back. “It’s you.” He looked nervously over his shoulder.

“Can you show me the way up to the next floor?” said Jute. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my way.”

“I shouldn’t talk to you,” said the boy. “I got in heaps of trouble for talking to you before. I’ve been told to go dust the attic and no one can abide doing that. I hate it. I had to do it once before when I broke a window. It’s full of ghosts, you see.”

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble, but I do need help.”

“Very well,” said the boy, who was the sort that didn’t need much persuading, particularly if it meant breaking the rules. “I’ll show you the stairs. They aren’t easy to find up here. They’re not always there, you know. Quick, I mustn’t be seen with you or I’ll really catch it. My name’s Lano.”

They hurried along, though Lano glanced back occasionally as if to assure himself that Jute was following him. He led Jute a bewildering, twisting, and turning way. They passed through a series of dark hallways, relieved here and there with doors and the occasional painting. Jute was careful not to look at the paintings. He was sure they all had eyes and were watching him.

“What is this place?” he said to the little boy.

Lano blushed at this question. “Oh, er, this is where the professors have their studies.”

“Isn’t there just a staircase that goes to the attic?”

Lano managed to turn even more red.

“I, um, borrowed a book.”

He showed Jute a book he had tucked under his shirt. Jute did not say anything, but perhaps his face betrayed a sort of encouragement. After all, he was a thief.

“I love to read,” said Lano. “I’ve read all the books in the library and I saw this one on Master Tosca’s desk. I’ll read it quickly and then return it before he’ll even notice it’s missing. You won’t say anything, will you?”