The Silver Bowl (14 page)

Chapter 27

A Dazzle of Silver Mist

I WRAPPED MY FEW POSSESSIONS,
along with Winifred's, into a tidy parcel. Then I slipped it under my pillow, ready to leave at a moment's notice. That done, I went in search of Tobias, eager to tell him the news—that Thomas had reappeared and had promised to help, and that we would attempt to destroy the bowl that very night. If all went well, we could leave the castle first thing the following morning.

“I'm glad,” he said, “for I was beginning to worry. There's been a steady stream of knights and wagons coming into the castle—the wagons filled with food, weapons, and armor. Reynard is preparing for a siege, Molly; I'm sure of it. And if we don't leave soon we'll be trapped here, in the enemy camp, of no use to Alaric at all.”

“You think Reynard knows about the prince?”

“He must. It's not an easy thing to keep secret, what with all those messages being sent out and so many men on the move.”

“Listen,” I said. “If things don't go well tonight, you must leave tomorrow anyway. You can go to the prince and tell him what happened. There's no sense in both of us—”

“Oh, stop it, Molly! Why should you fail? You've been called to do this thing, so there must be a way. The Guardian will tell you. Surely he knows what must be done.”

“Oh, there's nothing sure about it, Tobias. Nothing sure at all. But I very much hope you are right.”

It was dark and still throughout the castle as I tiptoed up the stairs to the kitchen. I had taken off my shoes so as not to make any noise, and the stone floors were cold against my feet. Perhaps that was why I trembled.

Thomas looked up as I entered the room, but he didn't say a word. He just met my eyes, then glanced down again. On the table, shining in the light of the candles, was the silver bowl.

I sat on the bench before it, my heart pounding. I reached out and touched the rim.

“Does it feel warm?” Even though we were alone and the door was shut, he spoke in a whisper.

“Not yet,” I said. “It usually happens when I'm polishing it—the inside part, where the carving is deep.”

“Yes, of course. That's how it was for me. Here. You may proceed.” He'd already made the paste, and the cloth was already damp. Still I hesitated.

“It's like sticking my hands into a basketful of serpents.”

“I know. I wish I could do it in your stead, but—”

“I understand.” I touched my chest again, feeling the silver disk warm beneath my gown. It had become a habit of late, something I did when I was frightened or sad. It always made me feel better. Finally I took up the cloth and began.

Thomas watched as I worked, making patient circles with the paste and the cloth.

He moved one of the candles closer. This brought out the pattern, casting shadows in the deep places, causing the raised parts to shimmer and tremble in the flickering light. I rubbed it with my cloth and stared till I was almost in a trance.

“Anything yet?”

“No,” I said, and could hear the edge in my voice. “I'm sorry, Thomas, but when you speak to me, you break my concentration.”

“I won't ask again,” he said.

I returned to my work, driving everything from my mind but the task at hand, and at last the silver began to quicken and grow warm; I felt that humming of invisible bees beneath my fingertips. Now the pattern was breaking up, writhing and flowing in the candlelight. I leaned in closer to study it.

Thomas didn't move an eyelash, but he knew.

The shallow bowl seemed to grow deeper now. I was looking down into a great, wide space—a rutted, grassy meadow encircled by a fogbank, beyond which nothing could be seen. Even within the meadow things were not clear or distinct, for the air was filled with a gauzy silver haze. And there in the center, gazing up at me, was a small figure made entirely of silver: the Guardian; it had to be.

“You came!” said the familiar voice.

“Yes.”

“Oh, bless you!”

Then he made a quick, strange motion with his hands; and after that I lost myself entirely. I was light-headed and queasy. There was a roaring in my ears, like a powerful wind; and around me there was nothing but a dazzling silver mist. I was tumbling through clouds, the air cool and moist against my skin; and I fell slowly, almost floating, as in water.

I wondered if this was what dying was like.

Chapter 28

Uncle

THERE WAS GRASS BENEATH MY FINGERS.
I opened my eyes and saw clouds, but they were whirling about in a most unnerving way. The spinning made my stomach lurch, so I closed my eyes against the dizziness, and after a time it passed. I rolled over then, pushing myself into a sitting position so I could look around.

It was the place I'd just seen in my vision—the rutted meadow of wild grass, disappearing on all sides into dense fog. And everything was silver except for me, even the delicate blades of grass. But why did it all feel so familiar, this strange, winding landscape with its high and low places? I felt sure I'd seen it before, perhaps even been there.

And then it came to me—of course it was familiar. I'd polished every inch of it. I was inside the bowl!

Oh, this was not what I'd expected, not at all! I'd come to the castle to smash the bowl, or melt it down, or sommat like that. Then when Thomas had explained why that wouldn't work and said I must ask the Guardian what to do, I'd convinced myself that the Guardian would know some clever magic trick, some enchantment or charm to wash the evil away.

I had not thought I'd have to fight the curses myself, in person.

True, I was ever quick with a slap and a kick; I'd been in my share of street brawls. I'd even dispatched two demon wolves. But those were mere trifles compared to a whole pack of curses. I will not lie about it: I lost every shred of hope and courage then. I put Alaric out of my mind. All I wanted was to run away. But where? There was nothing around me but grass and fog. I sat there for a long time, feeling wretched, weeping in pity for my own poor self.

At some point I noticed the Guardian. He was kneeling quietly beside me, his hands folded in his lap, his expression full of sympathy and concern. I left off crying and wiped my face.

“You're incredibly brave to have come here,” he said. “Not many would have done it.”

“No,” I said. “Not brave at all. I just fell in. And now that I'm here, I'm terrified.”

He took one of my hands and clasped it in both of his. It surprised me how soft and warm they were. I felt his kindness flow into me, like good physic. “So am I, Molly dear—very much afraid. But the touch of your hand gives me comfort and hope.”

“Yes,” I said. “I can feel it, too.”

“We're linked to each other, that's why. When your grandfather made me, he tempered the silver with his blood, as he did with his Loving Cups—for he himself was the source of all the magic. That makes us blood relatives. I'd be honored if you'd call me Uncle.”

“All right, I will—Uncle. Most gladly.”

“Good. Now, can you rise? Are you recovered from your fall?”

“Yes. I feel better now. You've taken my pains away.”

“Then follow me. We only have a little time. They're in the forest now, sleeping. But come morning they'll wake; and as the fog lifts, we'll start to see them. We must be ready.”

He led me along a winding pathway till we came to a circular platform, smooth and perfectly round. I remembered that too from when I'd polished the bowl: a perfect little disk, right in the center, so unlike the wild pattern that swirled around it.

“This is the door,” he said, taking his place upon it like a soldier at the ramparts. “It's best not to leave it unguarded. And we need to keep watching the perimeter, too. Usually they sleep at night, but they can be tricky. A time or two I trusted to that and allowed myself to rest. As you know, a few escaped.”

Already the fog was breaking up. I began to see the distant shape of silver trees, silver vines drooping low from their boughs, sparkling with drops of silver dew—but nothing moved within.

“Will it be a common fight, Uncle, with weapons and such? Or something strange and magical?”

A bitter little laugh. “No weapons,” he said, “or at least not proper ones.” He leaned down and picked up a pair of sticks that were lying in the grass. They were long and straight, branches broken from silver trees and sharpened at the tips. “This is all we have. I made them myself. But they're strong and sharp. Better than nothing.”

“My grandfather charged you with the care of a hundred curses—and he didn't even give you a sword?”

“I didn't need one. They were just harmless infants back then.”

“But—?”

“I was meant to let them out, you see, one each day or so. If I'd done as I was bid, it would have been over in less than a year, with little harm done. But I couldn't bear to watch the child suffer.” He paused and hung his head. “I didn't know they could grow up.”

“Oh, Uncle!”

“I'm glad your grandfather didn't live to see it. He thought he was so clever when he was making them, you know. Such innocent little mishaps, such comical names he gave them: Tummy-Trouble, Cold-Porridge, Tangled-Up, Little-Nibble.” He sighed. “They're not funny anymore.”

All the time I'd been there, the light had been quite dim. But now a shadow fell over our little world and it grew darker still, as when a thunderstorm is nigh. We looked up. The sky was dense with clouds, but here and there were darker spots. They formed a shape—rather like the man-face you see on the moon. It moved, then, and there was a disturbance in the clouds. A figure came tumbling through them, arms and legs flailing.

“Thomas!” I cried, and took off running along the raised pathways, jumping over ditches, until I reached the spot where he lay. “Are you all right?” I thought about the pain of my own fall—and I was young; Thomas was an old man.

“I think so,” he said, gasping. “Just had the breath knocked out of me.”

“Shall I help you up?”

He thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “All right. But slowly, child. Gently. That's it.” He stood for a moment, one hand resting on my shoulder for balance, gazing around him. Then he gave a soft little laugh of amazement. “We're inside the bowl, Molly!”

“Yes. And I'm right glad you came, for we shall have to fight them, Thomas, with nothing but a couple of homemade lances. But now we are three. It begins to seem possible that we can do it.”

“Indeed,” he said. “All things are possible now.”

And then—so unexpected!—he took me in his arms, tenderly, as a father would hold a beloved child. He even stroked my hair. “Molly,” he said, “sweet little Molly.”

He'd never done such a thing before—nor would I have expected him to. I was his servant, after all, and common, and a child. But I was his ally now, with a terrible battle ahead of us. He was treating me as his equal. I felt honored, and proud . . . and a little uncomfortable.

“Truly,” Thomas said, “I am sorry about this. But I swore an oath, and I cannot turn from it now. Please understand, child, I never meant you any harm.”

“
Harm
, Thomas?”

His hand was under my hair, searching for the chain. I tried to pull away, but he'd recovered from his fall quite amazingly, and his grip was very strong. Then he gave the necklace a powerful tug. I felt it bite deep into the skin of my neck, like to choke me. At last the chain snapped and Thomas released me, pushing me away from him so that I stumbled into a ditch.

I watched as the disk came off the chain and went flying, landing in the grass. I saw Thomas pick it up. And then he was running away in the direction of the forest.

I climbed out of the ditch and saw that Uncle was nearly upon me. He had brought both of the sticks. I'd left mine behind in my excitement.

“I thought you meant to kill him,” he said. “I thought you had a plan.”

I just shook my head. “I don't understand, Uncle. Why did he do that?”

“He's the
one
, Molly. I showed it to you in the visions, remember? He swore his oath to Gertrude, then he ordered your grandfather to make the bowl and murdered him after.”

“Oh, heaven help me, Uncle.” I wailed. “You might have
shown me his face
!”

I grabbed the extra stick from his hand and I was off again, winding my way across the meadow, along the raised pathways, over the channels, in the direction of the forest. “Thomas!” I shouted as I ran. “Don't you dare!”

He was already into the trees by then, half hidden by the fog. But I could just see him turn and look at me.

“You will not harm the prince!” I said, wild with rage. “Not so much as a toe or an eyelash. I will not allow it!”

He smiled. “I'm afraid you have no power to forbid me anything. Not anymore.” He held up the silver disk. “I'm sorry, Molly, but you're nothing but a common scullery maid now.”

Then he disappeared into the mist.

Chapter 29

Strong Point, Weak Point

“WHEN WILL THEY START
coming out?”

I meant to sound calm, but I could hear the trembling in my voice, for I'd been deeply shaken by Thomas's betrayal. Was anyone to be trusted? Who would turn on me next? Uncle? Tobias?

“We'll see them soon,” Uncle said, gently resting his hand on my shoulder. “I'm afraid he went in there to wake them and tell them the portal is open.” He sighed. “Whenever I stray from your grandfather's plan, everything goes awry. But I had no choice. I had to open it to let you in.”

“So now the curses can escape?”

“If we don't kill them first.”

“Can't you just close the portal?”

“No. Not until they're all gone: dead or into the world. Your coming here, our need to fight the curses, Thomas—none of that was anticipated; they were never part of the plan.”

“That's very bad news, Uncle.”

“Yes,” he said. “Now listen, my dear. I've been with these creatures my whole life. I am familiar with all of them, their characters and their weaknesses. Likewise, they have known me since they were infants. I am as common to them as the grass and the trees; they don't consider me a threat. Once the killing starts, of course, that will likely change. But until it does, we may use those things to our advantage. And, Molly, I think we are about to begin. Over there, at the forest's edge. Do you see it?”

His eyes were better than mine. A silver figure on a silver background is hard to make out. But then I caught the movement against the trees.

“Yes, I see it now. It looks like a dandelion puff.”

It seemed to hover in the air, which was odd since it had no wings. Then it came closer and I saw its long, delicate legs, eight or ten of them, like those of a giant spider. It was unsettling the way it crept along—insectlike, very fast—but it didn't seem particularly menacing.

“Don't let it deceive you,” Uncle warned. “It is not so innocent as it appears.” And just as he said it, the creature opened its enormous mouth, lined top and bottom with a double row of razor-sharp teeth, and let out a menacing hiss. I couldn't tell if it meant to threaten us or if that was just its common way.

“I think it knows,” Uncle said. “Thomas must have told them I was not their kindly Guardian anymore. Let's split up and approach it from opposite sides. But, Molly, it's more likely to turn on you than on me, so if you see a chance to attack, you must go ahead and take it. And be quick on your feet if it starts coming at you.”

All right,
I thought as we crept toward it:

Weak point: it has spindly legs.

Strong point: it's fast.

Strong point: those teeth.

I touched my chest out of habit, forgetting that the necklace wasn't there, and felt the familiar surge of elation, and confidence, and strength. But I didn't have time to consider just then how very odd that was—for the creature was drawing closer now, dancing across the pathways with surprising grace and alarming speed.

And I realized our plan wouldn't work. To attack it from the side, I'd have to get in close enough to strike, then keep pace with it while I aimed my lance—but it was too quick footed for that. I needed a different strategy.

So I chose a spot where the ground was even and gripped my lance tight. Then I growled. It heard me and turned, scuttling straight in my direction. I judged its speed and made a quick calculation: I had maybe three seconds. When it was almost upon me, I jumped to the side, then squatted low and swung my stick under it, hard.

The fragile legs shattered just as I'd hoped, and the body pitched forward onto the ground, rolling into one of the gullies. There it lay, snapping and hissing and throwing itself about. I was afraid it might somehow work itself out of the ditch and come at me with those teeth, but I took the chance and crept closer. Choosing my moment, I lunged with my stick.

It collapsed like an empty wineskin—and then it began to melt. First it was thick, like molten silver, then thinner, like rainwater. Finally it soaked into the ground and was gone.

Uncle came up beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“It just . . . disappeared.”

“Yes. You destroyed the curse; its spirit is gone. What remained was only silver, and that has melted back into the bowl.”

I was feeling exceedingly pleased with myself—Molly the Giant Killer! I turned to Uncle to crow a little but saw that his attention was elsewhere. Wordlessly he spun me around.

It was a serpent, or much like one, though it didn't slither on the ground. It danced and flickered through the air as an eel does in water. At times you could see it—indeed it seemed to glow bright from within—then at others it disappeared from sight. It darted and flashed across the meadow, and I thought for a moment how beautiful it was. But then of course—my grandfather was a great artist.

Unfortunately there were no weak points this time.

It danced ever higher and higher. Now it considered the clouds. It was remembering the portal. This was the end of it, then, for we could not reach up there where it was, and soon it would disappear—through the clouds, out into the bowl, to work its evil against the prince.

“Ague!” Uncle boomed. “Come see what I have for you!”

It twisted in the air and dived down, came close, then wriggled back up again.

“You'll like it, Ague. I know you will. Won't you come and see?”

Again it swam down to where we stood; but this time it stayed in front of Uncle, pulsing in the air, shimmering, coming and going from sight. The head, I saw now, was not like that of a serpent but birdlike, with a curved, sharp beak.

“Look,” Uncle said, holding out his hands, cupped together. The creature trembled with excitement.

Uncle didn't have to say it; I knew what I had to do. As he slowly opened his hands, the serpent all attention, I gauged the broadest part of its body, then aimed my lance and struck. It collapsed and slowly began to lose its form, turning to molten silver. Even in death it shimmered in the sunlight.

Sunlight
? How long had I been here? Could it already be dawn?

No, I realized, it couldn't. We were in the bowl, and the bowl was in a windowless room, and the door to the room was shut. The only light came from the candles on the table, and—

I looked at the sky; and there through the clouds I saw Tobias, looking down at me, holding a candle.

“The large toad, Molly!” Uncle shouted.

“Behind you!” Tobias warned.

I turned. It was approaching with great, heavy leaps, ponderous and ungainly. Its body sloshed about as though it were filled with water. And on each of its three, long, serpentine necks sat a ghastly toad head, each with a mouth filled with tiny teeth and a pair of bulbous eyes. It ignored Uncle. It was only interested in me.

Weak point: thin necks.

Weak point: it's awkward and slow.

“How do I get in?” Tobias called.

“Get us some weapons, then just lean over. You'll fall in.”

The toad was weaving its necks back and forth, in and out. I couldn't think why.

Weak point: the heads keep moving and are looking in different directions.

Three mouths opened; forked tongues explored the air. I menaced it with my stick, distracting it while Uncle crept up from behind.

Then he pierced the thing and it deflated as they all did, oozing rivers of silver blood, beginning its inexorable return to the heart of the silver bowl.

The light had dimmed now. Tobias had gone in search of weapons. We both looked up expectantly.

“Who was that?” Uncle asked.

“Tobias,” I said, “someone who's always there when I need him.”