The Witch of Glenaster (15 page)

Thomas flung the heavy scarf
across his shoulder, and tucked it into his coat. Then, looking briefly around
the room, he gathered up the canvas bag from where it lay on the sofa, and
looped it over his arm. Then he fastened and refastened his sword-belt, and
several times checked that all he needed was within easy reach. Finally, he
took the long dagger, the
seax
, from its place
on the mantelpiece, and quickly ran his eyes along the blade, before returning
it to its scabbard, beside his sword. Then he turned to face us.

“Ready?” he asked, and his
voice was hardly more than a whisper. We nodded. “Good. Then let’s go.”

It was clear that we could not
now remain behind while Thomas disappeared for weeks, or even months, on his
journey to the north – though his first instinct, he confessed, was that we
should do precisely that. But he said he feared for our safety if we did so,
and besides, he did not trust me not to follow him (in this, he was correct).
Also, Stefano was sick from the fire-slave’s bite, and may or may not recover;
either way, the house would be no place for children during the coming days.
Thomas had offered to take Stefano to the Guards’ Hospital, in the west of the
city, but the old man had refused, saying there was nothing the physicians
could do for him, and, if he must die, he would rather do so in his own bed.
And so Thomas had agreed, though with reluctance, to this request, making sure
there was enough food in the house to last the next week at least, and, with
our help, cleaning the rooms of the remains of the gross, blood-fat insects
lying there, and ensuring that any gaps or holes where they might again gain
entry were plugged or covered up.

Then, having made his decision,
he told us we were to leave with him before dawn, and accompany him to the
Dragon’s Head, where he had friends waiting; and, having said this, he insisted
we get as much sleep as time allowed, while he prepared for our journey.

And so, at just before three
o’clock, he had roused us and told us to wash and dress as quickly as possible,
and then to meet him downstairs, where he had travelling clothes and supplies
ready. We did so, my brother rubbing the sleep wearily from his eyes, and I
tired and dazed.

He explained that he had been
out, briefly, during the night, to find some things we needed that he could not
obtain from Stefano’s stores (though he did not say where he had got them
from). There were scarves and thick coats for us, and packs of clean clothes;
bundles of cheese and apples; a cake of soap each; and sticks of herbs, to keep
our teeth clean. For Magnus there was a great fur hat, too big for him, so that
when he was fully dressed he looked rather like a stuffed toy, and Thomas and I
laughed at this, which made him sulk. Then Thomas filled four canteens – one
for each of us, plus one extra – from the well in the courtyard.

We took our leave of Stefano,
and Magnus and I both wept to think we might not see him again. Thomas spent a
long time alone with his friend, as we waited in the hall, and when I later
remarked on the kindness he had shown to us, he replied:

“Such kindness is always a
blessing, because it is so often unlooked for, and unexpected. That there are
such people in the world is what makes it bearable.”

When we finally left the house,
the dawn was already rising up the east. There was a trap, waiting for us at
the side of the street, its lamps burning hazily through the mist of early
morning, and a man stood close by it, clutching the reins, wrapped in a heavy
coat and shawl. He nodded to Thomas, and the two spoke briefly together, in
soft and quiet voices, before the man left us, disappearing into the fog.

Thomas opened the door of the
trap for us to get in, and, as he climbed in front, passed us a blanket, which
I wrapped around our legs against the chill. The horse stamped and moaned, and
at first seemed unsure, but Thomas spoke reassuring words to it, and soon we
were trotting through the city’s back streets, the horse’s hooves sounding a
dull echo on the cobbles.

We travelled by the back roads
as much as possible, and avoided the main thoroughfares, for Thomas was anxious
that as few people as possible should see us; and, though this seemed the
longer way round to our destination, there was little traffic so early in the
morning, and we had a clear run at first.

We rounded bends, and crested
steep hills, and many of the dark and close-packed alleyways looked
indistinguishable to me in the grey half-light; but Thomas clearly knew the
way, and set his face forward, his eyes never wavering from our road, driving
the horse on – not too fast, for this would attract attention, but as fast as
he dared in the narrow darkness.

All seemed well for the first
quarter of an hour or so, and he seemed certain we would arrive at the Dragon’s
Head before the daylight was at full strength. But as we reached the northern
districts, approaching the mighty River Fern, the lights of the great Bridge of
Socus
winking high above, I became aware that
something was not quite right: another trap, small and fast like ours, but with
its lights dimmed despite the gloom, was following hard behind us.

“Thomas…”

“I see it,” he replied, never
once removing his gaze from the road ahead. “Hold on.”

He suddenly steered hard to the
right, down a long street that curved downhill a good way, before emerging at a
small square, from which several smaller lanes sprouted in all directions. He
chose the one furthest from us, at the north-western corner of the square, and
headed for it; but as he did so, the other trap emerged from the street behind,
and I heard him utter a quiet oath.

For a while the road we were on
kept a straight course past houses and small hostelries, and at the window of
one I just had time to see a naked man, his face flushed and a broad smile on
his face, with a deep mug of ale in one hand, and a doxy in the other. Still
the other trap came on, and did not seem to slow, and it was a great relief to
us when a trader pulled his cart out into the road behind, blocking it; but
when we looked a minute later, despite having swung down another side street
and then looped back on ourselves, we saw our pursuers remained close behind,
as if they were affixed to our tail.

Magnus almost seemed to be
enjoying himself, resting his chin on his arms and gazing at the retreating
road behind. But I knew our peril, and I pulled him away, and leaned in to
speak to Thomas.

“Who are they?”

He sounded impatient, and
weary.

“Guardsmen? Local militia? Or
worse. Whoever they are, we do not want to get caught by them. Not now.” And he
made it clear he did not wish to speak any more, until we were safely away.

Then for a few minutes it
seemed like we had shrugged them off. We were climbing a high-verged street,
that twisted upward like a corkscrew, and the horse was panting and snorting,
his breath billowing clouds into the bitter air; and at the top we came out on
to a broad, open avenue, which was split into two great lanes, with traps and
carriages, and guards on horseback, processing steadily up and down. I could
tell Thomas had not meant to come this way, and indeed he was soon driving us
on across the traffic, which we snaked in-between, and down into another side
street.

We were high up in the city
now, and once again I could see the Bridge of
Socus
, though
now it did not seem so far away, its lights eclipsed by the rising sun. A steep
gully fell away below us, as we crossed a great brick viaduct, and I thought
that surely now we must have escaped. But as we reached the other side, and
were funnelled into a busy shopping street, with carriages either side of us
and no way to move either to left or right, I saw the other trap, which somehow
– it seemed impossible – had crossed the gully by a different route, and come
up on a road parallel to ours - now visible, now not, as it disappeared behind
a house, or a shop, and then reappeared again.

Now it was near full daylight,
I could see its occupants more clearly.

The driver was wearing a dark
cloak that was swept away from his shoulders, and his face was all but masked
by a thick muffler and top hat; only his eyes were visible, and - it seemed
absurd – but they actually seemed to
glow
, a kind of steady, green
luminescence that was clear even from several yards’ distance.

His companion was dressed
similarly, but seemed smaller, and somewhat neater, and, despite the speed at
which they were travelling, had almost a prim air as he sat next to the other
man. At least, I
presumed
they were men. I thought I saw wisps of hair
flying free beneath the passenger’s hat, hair that looked not at all like a
man’s; and there was something in his stillness – and patience - that suggested
he
might be a
she
.

The roads shadowed each other
for the best part of a mile, and all the way the other trap kept pace with
ours, and we had to weave between the traffic at such speed I thought we would
topple over. Once or twice we nearly did, one side of the vehicle lifting clear
away from the ground, and I saw Thomas use his weight to force us back down,
the jolt springing upwards through our bodies, and bouncing us out of our
seats. We could surely not continue like this for much longer. The horse would
be wild with exhaustion. I heard Magnus starting to cry, and held him close,
though I was hardly less afraid than he.

And then our luck changed. The
wide, dusty road in front of us started to roll away beneath the horse’s feet,
and suddenly we were going downhill again; and as we raced down into a broad,
open park, parakeets swooping noisily above our heads, the other trap, now
behind us, steered too suddenly, and in doing so lost its purchase on the road,
and careered on to its side, in a circus of dust, and shouts, and screaming. I
only turned my head briefly, and saw that the scene behind us, disappearing
rapidly from view, was one of confusion and panic; and then I looked no more.

After another mile or so,
Thomas allowed our pace to settle, though we still kept up a good speed as we
emerged from the park. The horse was weary and ill-tempered, shaking itself to
ward off the flies, as we followed the road down, and down, away from the
city’s high hills, towards its northern edge, and the lands that lay beyond it.
To our right we could see the Tower of the Kings, formed from great slabs of
unyielding granite, and carved with the runes of the Four Great Emperors.

Thomas guided the trap past
high conifer trees, black with crows, and low hedges, the hillside too steep to
build upon. The breeze whispered in the leaves, and the ground seemed to sing a
steady rhythm, beaten out in time by the trotting of the horse’s hooves, and
the roll of the wheels. The body of the trap creaked on its springs, and I was
almost upon the point of sleep, when I heard Thomas say, his arm pointing
loosely over the valley below:

“There is the Dragon’s Head. We
are late.”

And I followed the line from
his finger, and saw, far beneath, a large structure, like a twisted metal
climbing frame, rising up from the buildings around it, the sun winking off its
limbs, like a smile, or a warning.

“I had to go the long way
round,” explained Thomas to Griffin Drake, a man with thick black hair, and a
wide moustache, who took the reins of the horse, and guided it and the trap
into a small mews, its stables and houses freshly whitewashed, and the air
thick with the smell of straw and dung. “And those people…” – he nodded back
the way we had come – “…put us even further out of our way than I had
intended.” He handed his gloves to a young man called Evans, who seemed slow
both in hand and head, but was eager and solicitous, and kept smiling at Magnus
and
I
, showing a graveyard of rotten teeth.

“And Will…?” asked Griffin,
quietly, as if he already knew the answer. Thomas simply shook his head in
reply, and the other man stiffened slightly.

“There will be time to grieve,
my friend. But for now she does not allow us even that.” And Griffin looked up,
and nodded.

We had arrived at the Dragon’s
Head at just after seven. I had been puzzled, and a little disappointed, by the
sight of it at first, for I had imagined some great statue, or a coaching inn
of ill repute, or perhaps a vast, soaring tower. Instead, the Dragon’s Head was
simply a frame: impressively large, when viewed up close, but hardly something
to inspire awe. And yet I noticed, as we alighted from the trap, and were
greeted by Griffin, that people in the square surrounding it seemed to shrink
away, or at least try not to walk too near; and some made the sign to ward off
evil, before hurrying on. But when I asked Thomas why this was, he said simply,
“Later.” And so I had to wait a while longer before I learned the true purpose
of that strange structure.

“Who were they, do you know?
The ones who followed you?” Griffin asked, setting down grain for the horse, as
Evans took a brush to its flanks, and patiently calmed the poor animal.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas.
“We have been stalked by dark shadows for many days now. I know what I
think
they were, but I hardly dare speak it here. Not till we have put long miles
between us…”

The other man did not ask any
more, but turned to address us.

“And who are these youngsters,
eh? Not pickpockets or
ne’erdowells
, I hope,
Thomas…?” He looked at Magnus. “Where’s your father, then, young man? He’ll be
waiting for you somewhere, I’ll wager.”

“Our father is dead!” spat
Magnus angrily, and I felt a sudden jolt at the word. Thomas put a hand on my
shoulder.

“These two are my wards, if you
like,” he said. “Their parents are… missing.
A murder of fire drakes
attacked their village, and their people were scattered. In any case, they are
under my protection for the time being.”

Griffin nodded.

“Fire drakes…” he said, darkly.
“They have been seen as far south as Sophia, I’m told. And Will Bowyer dead. It
is a bad business.” And he ushered us through into a small house at one side of
the mews, where a fire was busy in the grate, and a woman, round and firm as a
door, was working at a stove. She took no interest in us, but simply continued
in her work, singing softly to herself, her voice as light and beautiful as she
was large. Thomas slumped heavily into a chair, and Griffin pulled out seats
for Magnus and
I
, before taking one himself. He
offered Thomas a pipe, but he refused, instead drawing a crumbling cigar from
his coat pocket, and, striking a match against his boot, lighting it. He let
the flame crawl down the lip of the match until it burned his fingers, then
quickly shook it out, and threw the stub into the fire.

“We can’t stay long,” he said,
through a mouthful of lung-lapped smoke. “A day at most. As soon as the others
are here, we must plan for our departure.”

“And these two…?” asked
Griffin,
sotto voce
,
nodding at us as if we were deaf.

“We are not dumb animals!” I
protested, and forced him to meet my eye. “We will go where we will.”

Thomas smiled at me then, and I
thought there was some admiration in it.

“They will travel with us,” he
said, and yawned slightly, closing his eyes. But I could tell Griffin was not
happy about this. He cast me a nervous look.

“Captain,” he said, “if these
children are in your charge, then there are many here, in my house, and others,
too, who will gladly take care of them while we are gone…”

“I have already decided,” said
Thomas, and he did not open his eyes. Griffin gave an impatient sigh.

“I have always respected your
judgement, Tom. But where we are going is no place for children. Perhaps it
would be better if they remained here, in the city…”

“They are not safe in the city.
Why do you think I brought them here? The same thing that hunts me, hunts them.
There is no safe place anywhere anymore. They can come with us as far as the
Green Cities, and then we will decide what to do. Until then, their peril is
our peril.” He was murmuring now, already half-asleep. He crossed his arms, and
rested his head on his shoulder. “And there is an end to the matter,” he said.
Though, by the look on Griffin’s face, I sensed there was not.