The Whisperer (13 page)

It was a groan of pain followed by a call of
Bruno.
Griff couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard the name
Pilo
whispered.

Lute had led Bruno onto the special raft and tied him to the timber railings as the man in charge had instructed. He’d counted his blessings that he’d worn such ordinary riding clothes today in a deliberate attempt to play down his princely role in front of the Duke and that Pilo had rid him of his jacket. With all the frantic action his clothes now looked appropriately grubby and he could pass as another dusty, weary traveller.

His other piece of luck was that he was riding Bruno, who bore no emblems on his saddle or blankets. Pilo could, of course, wear all those signatures in his capacity as Prince’s Aide but he was always one to prefer anonymity. He was a secretive man and clearly wanted no-one scrutinising his life. Lute fingered the silver whistle that he’d hidden beneath his shirt, wondering sorrowfully what had become of Pilo.

Someone had interrupted his thoughts. ‘That’s a mighty fine horse you’ve got there, lad.’

Lute had turned to look into the face of a bearded man, minus several front teeth, who was grinning at him.

He’d swallowed his surprise and nodded. ‘Just transferring it across the river to my master.’

‘And who would he be?’

‘A very important man,’ Lute had said firmly, adding, ‘who answers to the King.’

‘The King?’ the man had responded but Lute had heard the mocking tone in his voice. ‘And who are you, then?’

‘None of your business,’ he’d replied, unable to hide his indignance. ‘I’ll ask you to leave me alone.’ He had known it was a mistake as soon as the words were uttered; his language was far too courtly for these men.

‘Ooh,’ the man had mocked, clearly not planning to leave Lute alone. ‘Did you hear that, Brog?’ A tall young man standing next to him grinned. ‘This little toad’s too high and mighty to share with us what he does for his very important master, who works for the King.’

‘I would think it’s obvious if I’m in charge of his stallion.’ He’d tried to sound less high-handed but still he’d shuddered inwardly at the regal manner he wasn’t successfully hiding. He would need to be very careful from now on if he was to survive in the world beyond the protection of the palace. He’d softened his tone. ‘Please, I have a job to do and I don’t want any trouble.’

‘Who said anything about trouble, lad?’ the man had replied in an injured tone. ‘I was just admiring the stallion, that’s all,’ he’d said. The man had then turned away, hands raised in a gesture of innocence, but Lute hadn’t for a moment believed that was the last he’d hear from this fellow. He had moved away to stand by Bruno’s head, stroking the stallion’s velvety muzzle and soothing the horse with a stream of softly spoken words. He couldn’t imagine that Bruno had travelled across water before and the last thing he needed was for the big horse to become spooked or agitated. Bruno had seemed decidedly mellow, however, and had waited patiently as the raft filled with various animals, from goats to pigs and even a cage of chickens, as well as a few huge sacks of wheat. These were travelling without their owners but Lute had no intention of leaving Bruno unattended.

Finally the raft-master had rung a bell that signalled to the man on the other side of the riverbank to begin driving the horses, which he did, and with a loud creak the raft had lurched forwards and begun its slow trek across the river.

After arriving on the far bank, Lute had deliberately waited until everyone else had come aboard and loaded their wares off
the raft before he’d led Bruno off and paid the ferryman with the spare jaks he had taken the precaution to put in his pocket. He hadn’t wanted anyone to glimpse the pouch of Pilo’s money that he had slung around his waist, inside his breeches.

He’d looked around for the gap-toothed man and his lanky companion but there was no sign of them. Lute had sighed with relief and expertly hauled himself up onto Bruno’s back. Urging the horse forwards, he’d led him steadily away from the busy riverbank, with its crowds of people going about their equally busy lives, and down the road in the direction of the inn that Pilo had insisted he find.

The road had narrowed and it had become dark beneath the canopy of trees. Lute had looked up then, acknowledging how late it had become. Already the sun had dipped low and that meant light was fading fast. He’d hoped The Shepherd’s Rest was not far away. He had passed a cart with a family on it that waved to him and then another three travellers on donkeys came by, all of them greeting him with nods or friendly smiles. He had become alarmed when he’d heard the gallop of hooves and a rider had come thundering past him at one point but he’d looked like a messenger on an urgent errand and was gone from Lute’s sight almost as soon as he’d seen him. Then there had been no-one and the journey had fallen silent for him other than the soft twitter of birds settling down to roost and a few lone crickets chirruping in the grass.

His mistake had been not remaining fully alert. He’d allowed himself to fall into a thoughtful mood, lulled into it by the rhythmic movement of the horse beneath him and the quiet surrounding him. It had been a long, eventful day and fatigue had begun to make him careless. Lute hadn’t noticed that daylight had diffused into dusk, nor had he seen the shadows moving stealthily alongside him in the trees flanking the road. By the time he’d registered the gap-toothed man and his companion, it had been too late. The lanky sidekick had hauled Lute down from Bruno and flung him into the undergrowth. Lute had felt something crack inside and he’d groaned Bruno’s name, frightened that the
horse might bolt. And then all he could think about was how he had let Pilo down barely hours after making his vow.

Now, above his pain and fright, Lute noticed that the man with few teeth was calming Bruno down. Meanwhile his own attacker was blowing fetid breath in his face with a knife near his throat.

‘Just give me a reason to use this knife on you,’ he sneered.

Lute shoved the young man’s hand away, noticing in the dim light that he had a drooping eyelid.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded, careful to speak with as much of an unrefined accent as he could, based on how the stableboys at the palace spoke.

‘Well, we’ve already taken yer horse,’ Lanky said. ‘And now we want yer money.’

Lute dug in his pocket. ‘This is it. This is all I have,’ he said, showing the few coins he’d had the presence of mind to keep handy, including one gold coin so it wasn’t obvious that he was hiding more. He prayed they didn’t search him and find Pilo’s pouch of money.

‘How much?’ Gap-tooth asked.

‘A gold shard, a few silver kerrets and the rest are jaks and copper,’ Lanky answered.

‘I hear horses in the distance,’ the older man suddenly said. ‘It will have to do.’

‘Well, this stallion is worth a pretty penny,’ Lanky said, whistling his appreciation. ‘It’s even more refined than we initially thought, eh, Brutus?’

‘That horse belongs to the palace,’ Lute warned. ‘Steal it and you steal from King Rodin.’

Brutus smiled his ugly smile. ‘Not from what the rumours say. We hear that Duke Janko might have inherited the throne.’

‘Inherited?’ Lute all but screeched.

‘King’s dead, or so the royal messengers have said. How come you don’t know if you’re in charge of a royal horse?’

‘Dead?’ Lute said, a pain hitting his heart as effectively as if he’d been punched. ‘I…I’m just a stableboy. I’ve been moving this horse to its destination.’

‘Which is?’ Lanky demanded.

He had to think quickly, sound convincing. ‘Delivering it to Master Pilo, the Prince’s Aide.’

It was Lanky’s turn to grin. ‘Well, the Prince won’t need no aide no longer.’

Lute frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because he’s dead, too. News is flying around the realm that he was killed in a riding accident. King died of a heart quake, pobably brought on by the news. Anyways, Janko is the only surviving heir, so looks like your precious Master Pilo is out of a job and won’t mind us making best use of his horse.’ He laughed, enjoying his own jest. His amusement died as he scowled, a new thought obviously hitting him. ‘Are you sure you don’t have more money on you?’

Lute was too shocked at the news to speak. He looked at the attacker blankly, shook his head.

‘Yeah, well I might just check that, you being a royal stablehand and all.’

‘Aw, leave him,’ his friend said. ‘I can hear the riders approaching. They’ll be on us in moments. Let’s clear off with the horse. His gold’s enough to buy us a warm bed and dinner with plenty of ale. The horse we can get rid of up north for a good price. We’ve done fine here.’

Lanky, who had Lute’s collar bunched in his fist, let go. ‘You’d want to stay quiet an’ all. Or we’ll come looking for yer.’

Lute said nothing, watched them leave with Bruno. His side was aching; it was hard to breathe, in fact, although he wasn’t sure if that was from the rough handling of his attackers or the news of his father. And Pilo had been right. Already Janko was spreading news that the Crown Prince had been killed in a riding accident. How convenient! He crawled deeper into the undergrowth and buried his face in his hands, determined not to cry. Pilo had always told him it was important that a man—especially the King—remain stoic about everything. He was never to show his emotions too nakedly. But even so, Lute could not prevent the tears that brimmed and then streaked down his cheeks.

Griff felt himself letting go. He was sure he was going to black out again and the only thing that stopped him from falling to the ground was that he was being hurried out of the arena by Tess. Mat was no help, still shaking with laughter at his younger brother’s lack of tact during his revealing performance. They left Master Tyren to face the music of the angry Mayor and his mob. Griff fell to his knees once behind the curtain.

‘Griff?’ Tess began.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, dragging in lungfuls of air to stop himself from bringing up his dinner. ‘Can we get away from here?’

They sneaked a still-unsteady Griff away to the copse where the creatures waited. He revealed to no-one how his head was hurting or how nauseous he suddenly felt. His three companions were still sniggering and sharing stories over the various people’s faces at their secrets being given up, although Griff was obviously not joining in the fun. But soon the fresh air and the change of scenery, as well as the quiet in his mind brought on by the presence of the creatures, ensured that he felt much better. He was frowning, thinking about the boy who was in trouble, wondering still if he was imagining this.

‘Well, I think you’ve just sealed your fate as a grunter for the rest of your life,’ Phineas said, grinning, slapping Griff on the back.

‘Very funny, Griff,’ Mat agreed. ‘It was a brilliant performance.’

Tess nodded. ‘Inspired. I’m amazed at your courage. I wish I’d thought to do something like that.’

They kept talking around him, no-one really noticing that he wasn’t responding.

‘…no way that Tyren will allow you to do that again,’ he heard Tess say above his own rambling thoughts. ‘Do you?’

‘What?’ he replied, shaking his head slightly in query.

‘He’s not even listening,’ Phineas said. ‘Listen, little brother. We’re doing a second show tonight so we have to go. How about you, Tess?’

She shook her head. ‘Once a night only. Tyren said he wants to build the intrigue around the creatures; let word start roaming ahead of us to the villages and towns we’re yet to get to.’

Mat whistled through his teeth. ‘Very cunning. We must go. See you both later. Thanks for the laughs, Griff.’ He meant it kindly and squeezed his brother’s shoulder before he and Phineas dashed back to the Beracca.

Tess turned to Griff. Twilight was giving way to dusk. Stars twinkled overhead in a clear night sky. ‘You’re very quiet,’ she said, a query in her voice. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I feel sick.’

‘Well, I can understand that after what just happened.’ She grinned.

‘No, not that kind of sick. I mean I feel ill, dizzy.’

‘What is it?’

He sighed. ‘I heard him again.’

‘Who?’

‘The Whisperer.’ She smiled slightly, but he could tell she didn’t understand. ‘The voice that talks to me,’ he added as explanation.

‘Oh, right. The boy?’

‘Mmm, yes, him. I think he’s in trouble.’

‘How can you be sure? It may be that—’

‘Tess, I just know! I could hear the fear in him. Last time his presence made me faint. This time I was stronger, I recognised it, so I didn’t pass out but I feel so unsteady. It’s magic I tell you.’

‘Alright,’ Tess said carefully. ‘Tell me what he said this time?’

‘It was brief. He was under threat, I think. I don’t know how I know, but I think he’s injured.’

‘That’s it?’

Griff nodded unhappily. ‘I’ve got to help him.’

‘What?’ Tess exclaimed. ‘You don’t even know who he is. Or where he is!’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Griff, you don’t even know if this is something in your imagination.’

His gaze narrowed as he looked at her.

She had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry I said that. Davren said it was very unfair of me, too.’

Griff glanced at Davren, who nodded encouragement. ‘He’s in trouble. He seems terribly alone…and now he’s hurt.’ This boy, the Whisperer. Who was he? He wanted to know.

‘And that’s your problem? Don’t you think you’ve got enough problems of your own?’ She looked embarrassed again.

‘Is Davren cross?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted again. ‘He’s ashamed of me but you were just talking about escape and I got so excited and now this.’

‘But Tess, this doesn’t affect whether we leave here or not. It just adds another reason for leaving.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Well, I think I should try and find him.’

‘Griff, listen to yourself. None of this is making sense.’

‘Come with me, Tess.’

She stared at him as though he was sliding into madness.

Griff tried again. ‘We want to leave anyway. I hated what I had to do tonight and I refuse to do it again. You’ve got to understand I have no control over what I hear. I don’t have time to sort it out to try and find people’s thoughts that are nice thoughts. Very few of them are, to be honest.’