The Silver Bowl (15 page)

Chapter 30

Buried

TOBIAS WAS STRONG
and famously quick, but there'd been no time to make him a lance. All he had was the cook's boning knife. And though it was long and wickedly sharp, he'd have to get in close to strike. It was horribly dangerous.

I offered him my stick. I suggested we take turns. After all, he'd brought a knife for each of us. I didn't need two weapons.

But he refused. “I've got longer arms than you,” he said. “And besides, the knife suits me.”

I looked at him hard. “Don't you die on me, Tobias!” I said. “I couldn't bear it.”

He only smiled.

I explained how it helped to use the demons' weaknesses against them. He nodded as I said it, and agreed it was a good idea, but that really wasn't his way. Oh, I'm sure he took a quick look first to see how best to proceed, but mostly he just ran straight at them. It was chilling to watch him do it. He was in with the knife and out again before most of them knew what had happened. He killed more that way than Uncle and I did with our strategy, but he took such dreadful chances. Already he was scratched and bleeding.

More of them had started coming out of the forest now, no longer one at a time but in clusters.

“I think we ought to separate,” Uncle said. “Spread out across the meadow. That way they can't take us all at once.”

“Oh, must we, Uncle?” I'd come to count on working with him. We pulled together like a well-matched team of oxen; we thought each other's thoughts.

“It's best,” he said.

Tobias nodded agreement.

I gave a little sigh of dismay. I didn't like it, not at all. But apparently I'd completed my apprenticeship, moving up to journeyman curse-fighter. Would I become master of my craft by the end of that long night?

Reluctantly I agreed and began to walk away from the others.

“Molly!” Tobias called after me.

“What, Tobias?” I called back.

“Don't you die on me! I couldn't bear it.”

I smiled. He knew how to lift my spirits.

We each fought our own separate battles after that. From time to time, as safety allowed, I would search out Uncle and Tobias, make sure they were still standing. When I saw that they were, it always gladdened my heart and gave me the courage to go on.

But now, having fought one creature after the other for hours with scarcely a moment of rest, working my muscles, working my brain—I had finally reached my limit. I was utterly spent, so worn I actually staggered as I walked. I wanted nothing so much as to lie down on the soft grass and sleep. As there was no danger just then, I shut my eyes. Only for a moment.

More than a moment it must have been, for how else could they have slipped up on me like that? Now as I opened my eyes, I saw they were alarmingly close, one on either side of me. I was trapped between them.

Most fearsome was the feral dog. Its head was massive, and it snarled and snapped at me, its eyes glittering bright. It moved like a rabid animal in a jerky, stumbling way.

On my other side—I knew not what to call it. An enormous, oozing silver bubble. A monster-slug.

Weak point, Slug: slow and soft. Appears to be blind. No teeth, no claws.

Weak point, Dog: none that I can see.

I went for the dog.

It crouched, growling deep within its throat, drawing back its lips, baring its hideous teeth. But I stood my ground, teasing it with my stick. It froze for a moment and appeared to be thinking. Suddenly it sprung to the side and gripped the lance in its powerful jaws just short of the point, then shook it, trying to wrench it from my hands. As we struggled, I slowly lowered the end of the stick till the dog's head was almost resting on the ground. It couldn't lunge from that position. It was twisted to the side, one shoulder down. The angle was perfect. With all the strength I still possessed, I jammed the lance forward. I had hoped it would slide through its teeth and enter the dog's chest.

But the creature was stronger than I knew. It gripped the shaft even tighter in its jaws. And so I abandoned the stick altogether and sprang suddenly, drawing out my knife. But the creature was quick, too. It released the lance and rose to attack, jaws open wide. It was as close as a heartbeat. I felt its heavy breath as I drove in the knife.

It was a good thing the curses died quickly, the very second you struck them—for had the dog lingered in its death throes, it would have killed me.

I waited a couple of seconds more to make sure it was dead. Then I turned to attend to the slug.

I saw in a flash that I'd made the wrong decision. I should have killed the slug first—it would have been quick and easy. Instead, I'd given it the leisure to make its slow advance. Now there wasn't even time to step away, for already it had trapped my feet and was crawling over me. It was enormous; and soon I was buried beneath it, unable to move, or breathe, or see. Its terrible weight was crushing me—pressing into my face, pinning my arms at my side, and oh, the horrible, gagging smell!

If I could only turn my head a little, enough to capture a pocket of air! But I couldn't. I was going to die.

In a foggy corner of my mind I noted that the weight of the monster was less heavy than before—though I still couldn't move; and its foul, slimy body still covered my face, pressing my nose flat, forcing my lips hard against my teeth.

I was on the verge of losing consciousness when it came to me, the reason it was getting lighter: my left hand still gripped the knife, and the blade was pointed upward. I had killed the creature, quite by accident, and it was dying right on top of me.

I could feel the weight growing lighter still. Maybe there was a chance now. I had to try—my body was screaming for air. Gathering all my strength, I tucked in my chin and tried to turn my head to the side. It hurt my neck something awful and scraped the skin on my face, but my head moved a little. Then a bit more, and at last, with the corner of my mouth, I sucked in a great, gasping breath—foul, foul, disgustingly foul!—but it was air.

I continued to lie there for a long time after that till the thing had melted away, leaving nothing behind but its horrible stink. Even then I didn't move. I wasn't even sure I could. I remember thinking—hoping—that nothing truly dreadful would creep up on me while I lay there gasping, staring at the sky.

I felt strangely peaceful. There was nothing above me but mist.

And then there was Thomas.

He reached down, and for a moment I confusedly thought he was offering me a friendly hand up. Instead, he pulled me sharply to my feet, twisting my arm behind me, causing me to drop the knife. His face was unrecognizable, contorted with grief, and rage, and terrible disappointment.

“I should have killed you the day you came back,” he said. “I've known who you were since the night of the banquet. I recognized the necklace. But I thought to play a subtle game with you, trick you and the Guardian into opening the bowl so that I could free the curses. I regret that now.” He gave another jerk, and I thought for a moment that my arm would separate from the shoulder.

“Do you know how long I've waited—waited in shame because I'd failed at my task? Forty-six years! And then, when it was almost over, nearly finished—you had to come along and destroy the curses!”

I clawed at his face with my free hand, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned that one behind me too. Then he slid his knife out of its sheath—not his knife, I saw, but the prince's dagger, with the emerald set into the pommel. He held the blade to my throat.

“But by God, Molly,” Thomas said, “I shall kill you now.”

I felt the steel cutting into my flesh; I struggled to pull away. It was hard to believe an old man could be that strong. And then I heard a thud; and Thomas twitched, his head and shoulders jerking back, loosening his grip on my hands enough that I could free one arm. I shoved him away from me.

There stood Uncle with his stick. Another swing, another terrible blow, and Thomas fell to his knees, his head lolling forward. Uncle raised the stick again.

You'd think I'd be glad, but it sickened me. This was a man I'd known for years. I'd thought well of him. I'd trusted him with my life.

Now I watched him die.

He didn't melt away as the others had. He just lay there broken and ruined, covered in blood.

I looked at Uncle through my tears.

“Thomas was evil,” he said.

“But he was a person.”

“Yes. And he had a soul, and education, and was born to privilege. Yet he brought about the death of all those people just because he loved the lady Gertrude and had sworn to avenge her wrongs—because she'd been overlooked, because her father would not make her his heir. For that he chose the path of murder. Teething-Pains, and Slimy-Worm, and all the rest—they never had a choice but to be what they were. I mourn for them a hundred times more than I do for Thomas.”

“It's horrible all the same.”

“Yes. And I'm glad I could do it so you wouldn't have to.”

And then I let him hold me, and pat my head, and say comforting things. I felt his good magic flowing through me again and wanted to stay there forever. But soon he broke the embrace and looked me squarely in the eyes.

“It's over now,” he said. “They're all gone. It's time for my spirit to escape.”

“No!”

“Molly, I've been in this place, keeping watch, since your mother was a babe. Don't you think I've earned my rest?”

“But I'll never see you again!”

“I know. And I shall miss you most horribly. But my spirit will escape whether I will it or not. It's how I was made. Come now. Tobias needs our help.”

He lay in the grass, his hand pressed against his head, blood seeping between his fingers. Uncle squatted down and touched him on the shoulder. “Tobias,” he said, “you have to get up now.”

He tried, then groaned and lay back again.

“Tobias!” Uncle said, more urgently this time. “I have finished with my task. Now my spirit must escape. When it does, the bowl will close forever. You must leave this place, and quickly.”

“But how, Uncle?”

He paused. “I don't know. None of this was part of the plan. But you came in through the clouds. Perhaps . . .” He let out a little gasp. “Oh!” he said. “I can feel my spirit rising even now.”

And sure enough, Uncle began to soften around the edges. He was melting just as the curses had. And at the same moment, it began to grow darker. I looked up and saw that the circle of light was growing smaller and smaller.

Then from far above us, for the very last time, I heard the old, familiar voice.

“The trapdoor!” it called.

And then the world went dark.

Chapter 31

An Eye-Catching Pair

I WAS SITTING ON A BENCH.
I could feel a table in front of me.

I must be back in the pantry, then—and not in Limbo, or some anteroom of heaven or hell. The candles had just gone out, that was all.

Had I dreamed it?

“Tobias?” I whispered into the darkness.

Nothing.

“Are you there?”

Nothing.

With trepidation:
“Thomas?”

Still no answer.

I explored the tabletop, brushing the edge of the bowl—cold now, as any normal thing made of metal ought to be when it had lain for hours in a chilly room—then pulling my hand away. I did not like to touch it.

I slipped my legs over the bench, got to my feet, and felt around for a candlestick. I found one, knocked it over, but caught it before it rolled onto the floor. Then, candle in hand, I felt my way toward the far wall, located the latch, and opened the door.

Ah, light! Not a lot of it, but compared to the coffinlike pantry, the kitchen was dazzling bright. I carried the candle over to the hearth, walking slowly—hobbling is more like it, for I ached in every corner of my body.

With a poker I nudged one of the embers from under the fire-cover and set the wick against it till it caught. Then I saw, by the light of the candle, that my hands and arms were all over scratched and bleeding. My gown was torn and stained with blood.

Not a dream, then.

Carefully guarding the flame with my hand, I went back to the pantry; but still no one was there.
Oh, Tobias,
I thought—
did I leave you behind? Did you die in there?
I began to tremble and couldn't stop the shaking. And so I went back to the kitchen and sat upon the hearth, weeping and soaking up what little warmth there was to be had. I felt so unbearably alone.

And then I heard a moan coming from the pantry. I hurried back and searched every corner of the room. But still it was empty. I must have imagined it—that groan.

Except that now it came again.

Candle in hand, I squatted down and peered beneath the table. And then, “Oh, Tobias!” I said. “Are you all right?”

“Iyanntano,” he answered.

“You don't know?”

“Unh hnh.”

I got up again, and lit all the candles, and set them in a row on the floor. Then I crawled under the table and knelt beside him.

“Where does it hurt the most?”

Was that a laugh? Good.

“Everrrrrr . . .”

“Everywhere?”

“Unh.”

Oh, he looked dreadful, scratched all over, smeared with blood.

“You don look so . . . good yerself,” he mumbled.

“Tobias, there's a lot of blood on the floor, here around your head. I need to have a look at it.”

“That horrible bird tried to bite off my head.”

At least he could put a sentence together now. “Yes,” I said. “I see it now.” The tip of the bill had sliced him something awful. I could see bone in places. “I'll be right back, Tobias. Don't move.”

There came that laugh again.

I went to the cupboard and got a roll of linen, then ducked down under the table again.

“I'm going to bandage your head.”

“All right.”

I wrapped it tight, putting pressure on the wound. When I was finished, we sat there for a while, his head cradled in my lap. Tobias was fully awake now, and his breathing seemed easier.

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

“As charming as it is to lie under the table while you are stroking my cheek—we really must get away from here. Out of the castle, I mean, and into the town.”

“I know. But I can't quite think how to do it. It's hard to be clever just now.”

“Well, the first step is to get up. Then the next step is to walk down the stairs, then out the door, and into the yard.”

“A brilliant plan. I never would have thought of it.”

“We will make rather an eye-catching pair. Not inconspicuous.”

“All the blood, you mean, and the gouges and scratches. And our ruined clothes.”

“Yes. And sorry, Molly, but you reek of something dead.”

“You reek, too.”

I slid back, scooping his head from my lap and setting it gently on the floor. Then I crawled out from under the table.

“I'll get my other clothes. You rest. I'll be back in a minute.”

I crept down the stairs and into the storeroom, where my roommates still slept. I felt my way in the darkness till I came to my little bed. Then I slipped the bundle out from under the pillow and left the room again.

No one woke.

Crouching on the floor outside the privy—near the spot where I had killed the first wolf—I unrolled the bundle and pulled out my only other clothes. They had been new when I'd worn them to the banquet, but they'd seen much hard use since, what with the prince's blood, and the river mud, and sleeping in the wet out in the open. They'd been scrubbed and mended several times, and so were reasonably clean—though shabby, very shabby, even for a scullery maid.

But they would have to do. They were all I had, and I could not go about as I was.

I changed in the privy, throwing the ruined and stinking clothes down the hole; the river would carry them away. Then I went back to the kitchen, found a cloth and some water to clean my face and hands, and returned to the pantry.

Tobias had moved out from under the table by then. He sat near the entry door, leaning against one of the silver chests.

“Ah, much better,” he said when I knelt beside him. “But you might want to run your fingers through your hair. Yes. Now only one of us looks like a wounded beggar.”

“How do you feel?”

“I shall live. Your head stroking seems to have cured me. You should set up shop as an apothecary.”

“Ha.”

I went to the far side of the room where I'd set the candlesticks on the floor. I began picking them up, two at a time, and setting them back on the table. I put them all on one end, near where Tobias sat and as far from the bowl as possible. I didn't want to look at it ever again.

But as I laid down the last of the candlesticks, I could not help but notice, out of the corner of my eye, that there was something in the bowl. Indeed, several things, rather large.

I took a candle and went over to have a look.

“Oh, Tobias!” I said. “Amazing!” I held up the prince's dagger.

He stared with astonishment. “Where did you get that? Last time I saw it, it was in the belly of a wolf.”

“It came out of the bowl. And the last time I saw it, Thomas was holding it to my throat.”

“Alaric's dagger?”

“Yes, the very same.” I set it down on the table and reached in again, bringing out the three kitchen knives. I held them up for him to see.

His mouth still hung open; now he was speechless.

I was thinking how fortunate it was that the cook need never know that his knives had been borrowed—and certainly not what they had been used for—when I noticed something else, something small, sparkling on the bottom of the bowl. I dropped the knives and gave a little cry of delight.

“Oh!” I said. “My necklace!”

“But why is it in there? Aren't you wearing it?”

“I was, but Thomas took it from me. He thought it made me powerful and without it I was helpless.” I grinned. “It appears he was wrong.”

“But what do you suppose . .?” He pointed to the bowl and the knives.

“I don't know. Except that, well, these things didn't belong in there.”

“So—what? The bowl just spit them out?”

“Something like that.”

I thought of Thomas, then. Did he belong? I supposed he did. The bowl had been his doing. Now it would be his grave.

I put my necklace back on, tying the broken ends of the chain in a knot. Then I went into the kitchen to put away the knives. The sky was beginning to grow light. It was time for us to go.

“Can you walk, Tobias?” I asked. He was more alert now, and his color had improved.

“I may need some help. My head still swims in circles.”

“All right, then, let me lift you up.”

He was heavier than I thought. He slipped back down again onto the floor.

“Move that bench over beside me,” he said. “I can rest one hand on it, and you can take the other. I think I can get up that way.”

I led him out into the kitchen and set him to rest on a stool.

“I must tidy up,” I said. “I'll be quick.”

I wet a linen cloth from the pitcher of rainwater and knelt down, careful not to soil my skirts, and wiped Tobias's blood from the floor. Then I set the bench back in its place.

But what to do with the silver bowl? I longed to throw it in the river, but that seemed needless and wrong. The enchantment was broken. It would do no more harm to anyone—and it was a great treasure, a fine and beautiful thing, made by a master craftsman who just happened to be my grandfather.

And so I put it away in its accustomed place and closed the cupboard door. Then I put the other things away, too—the polishing paste, the pitcher, the linen, the candles.

“Are you ready?” I asked Tobias.

“I think so,” he said. “I've been sitting upright all this time and never once tumbled to the floor.”

“A good sign. Now take my arm, and we shall go get you a change of clothes. Then it's off to the hospital as soon as the gates are opened.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Perhaps not, but it's what we shall tell the guards. The hospital lies outside the walls, Tobias.”

“Clever girl. So tell me then—how shall we say I got this gash on my noggin?”

“You fell down the stairs.”

“Was I roaringly drunk, like poor Sebastian?”

“No. Just very, very clumsy.”

We shuffled across the flagstones toward the stairway, clinging together for support, staggering comically.

“We are indeed a pitiful pair,” I said.

“No—not pitiful. Wounded heroes, returned from battle.”

“Why, yes, Tobias, now that you say it—I suppose that's exactly what we are.”