The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) (3 page)

Amelia hesitated, not wanting to look foolish again. What did Meg
expect
her to make of that? On the second look, she took more notice of the pattern of dark and light on its top, inlaid with skill enough, but looking the worse for age and wear. It was a six-sided games table, its legs nicely turned, but for one which had obviously been replaced, and it had a deep split in one edge of the playing surface.

“Don’t tell me,” said Meg, sighing wearily. “You don’t play?”

Amelia shook her head. “I can play checkers, if you like,” she offered. If Meg wanted to pass the time with games, Amelia was willing to meet her halfway.

“Never mind,” said Meg, forcing bright optimism into her voice, despite her very obvious doubts. “Jonathan tells me you’re a clever girl, so I’m sure you’ll pick it up soon enough.” She pulled out a drawer from underneath the table, revealing two sets of pieces laid out in green baize grooves, like some strange miniature burial ground. The bottom of each had a long metal pin stuck into it, which slotted into small holes in the board – Amelia guessed so that the game could be employed to pass the time during travelling, without the pieces being lost or disturbed. Meg picked out the white pieces, ivory stained yellow with age, and named each as she stuck them into their starting positions on the board. “Pay attention, Amelia: this is the queen… and the paladin… the mage, the warship, and the commander. These plain ones are the soldiers.” As she pinned the remaining white soldiers and the ebony army in place, Amelia took the time to study the white pieces, trying to make sense of the simplistic carvings. None of them looked very much like what Meg had called them. “Now, the white side takes the first turn. I’m sure Percival would tell you more about the significance of that than I can, but suffice to say there are pros and cons to playing either side.”

They played for what must have been hours, with Amelia struggling to memorise the rules and the moves. Meg made no effort at easing her companion gently into the game, and one swift defeat after another wore on Amelia’s nerves after a while. She tried to glance discreetly at the time, but if there was a clock in the cabin, she couldn’t easily find it amidst the array of dials and meters on the walls. As the day wore on, with the last of the light dimming, Amelia’s attempts to discern the time became less covert and more pointed. Without rising from her seat – without even looking up from the games board – Meg lit the ornate floral lamp overhead with a casual flick of her fingers.
Magic,
Amelia thought, sudden interest rousing her from her stupor.

“My stepmother always said you were a witch. I thought she was just being rude.”

“There’s no shame in being a witch,” said Meg, sharply. “I meant to ask before: have you had any lessons in simple magic, at least?”

Amelia shook her head. She was a voracious reader, a poet, a speedy knitter, and a conscientious seamstress, but she doubted any of that would impress Meg. “Should I have done?” she asked.

Meg looked cross again. “Well, perhaps it’s for the best,” she said. “I’m sure Sincerity
meant
well.”

“I don’t think she knows any magic,” Amelia said, without thinking. A moment later, it occurred to her that it wouldn’t be all that surprising if the second Mrs. Lamb knew magic, but simply hadn’t taught any to her stepdaughter out of jealousy and spite.

“Oh, she knows plenty,” said Meg, darkly, confirming Amelia’s suspicions.

“She does?”

“Now, how about another cup of tea, and a slice of cake?” said Meg, rising from her seat. “I don’t bake – never could quite get the knack of it – but I bought a very nice ginger cake on my way to Springhaven.”

Naïve as she might be, Amelia recognised an attempt to change the subject when she saw it.

“Pass a piece up to Perce, if he’s still awake,” said Meg, cutting three generous slices of the moist, spicy cake.

“What do you mean, ‘
if he’s still awake
’?” Amelia asked, alarmed. “Isn’t he driving?”

Meg shrugged and passed Amelia a plateful of ginger cake. “Well… he is, and he isn’t. Mimi and Tallulah know where they’re going.”

“Mimi and Tallulah?” She couldn’t mean…

“My snails,” said Meg, refilling Amelia’s cup. Amelia, no longer preoccupied with remembering the correct manoeuvres for a warship, considered the peculiar shape of Meg’s tea cups. Tall and thin, with a wide sturdy base. Difficult to get used to drinking from, but like the games board and the chess pieces on pins, the cups had been designed with the rolling, swaying motion of the snailcastletank in mind. Underneath the delicately painted motif of pansies, somebody had meant these cups for use on a long journey.

Meg yawned. “Now that I think about it, it’s getting late, and we should probably stop for the night.”

Amelia looked out of the window, at a landscape not so very different from the hills and woods around Springhaven. They had travelled less than half a day, but already the journey had taken her further from home than she’d ever been in her life. The road ahead stretched on, a wide chalky streak fading into the darkness beyond the reach of the snailcastletank’s lamps. Moths danced in the twilight and the call of a distant owl highlighted the emptiness of the landscape. Faced with a rising sense of fear and isolation, Amelia could only remind herself that if nothing else, Father trusted Meg. Their route so far had taken them past farms and lonely cottages, but no sign of an inn as far as Amelia had had time to notice. She’d never stayed at an inn before, and didn’t entirely like the idea.

“Um, Miss Spinner… where will we stay?” she asked.

“Don’t call me that, dear.” Meg bustled over to the hatch, suddenly avoiding Amelia’s gaze. Amelia had almost managed to forget that this strange woman was her mother, and found she still didn’t want to think about it. “You can call me Meg. Anyway, this should do nicely. Pull over here, Perce! Just by those trees.” She put away the chess pieces and covered up the games table with the embroidered cloth again. “Now:” she pulled down a hatch in the cabin ceiling, and in a commotion of clanking, a short flight of stairs unfolded, leading up out of sight. “Amelia, you can take my bed; I’ll have Perce’s; and he can sleep down here. Go on up now, and I’ll give you some time to get changed into your nightdress.” She handed Amelia a lamp. “I’ll be up when I’ve seen to the snails for the night.”

With the lamp in one hand, and her suitcase in the other, Amelia climbed up and through the small hatch in the cabin ceiling. Above the cabin, in the tower of the snailcastletank, she found a whole second room with a large window at the front and two small beds tucked neatly one above the other against the back wall. The bottom one must be Meg’s: with the frilly cushions and the rose-embroidered bedspread. Amelia gazed out of the window at the moon and the stars glinting in the indigo sky. Down below, she could hear Meg murmuring in a low, soothing voice to the two giant snails. Amelia drew the curtains, changed into her night dress, and curled up in the nook of the bottom bunk, unable to make up her mind if she would call it cosy or cramped.

Meg had asked if she’d had any lessons in magic – did that mean she still had the opportunity to learn? Where did one go to learn magic? Even worn out from the day’s events, Amelia dozed uneasily for a long time, pulled from near sleep several times during the night by the thud of hooves and the rumble of carriages passing by. Eventually, she slept.

Amelia woke with the sun already beaming in through the window, filling the cabin with warmth and light, and the whole room swaying queasily. The snails might need rest, but Meg hadn’t wasted any time in getting them moving again. Amelia opened the windows to stand at a small balcony, holding onto the railing and mesmerised by the road ahead. A wood came into view on the path ahead, and soon the leafy green boughs of trees were moving past her at a steady rate. Amelia shrank back from the window, feeling quite dizzy. Reluctant to go downstairs, she spent twice as long as usual brushing and braiding her hair. If Amelia was not exactly beautiful, she at least had every right to be proud of her hair. The two fat sleek braids the colour of honey sat heavily over her shoulders, smooth and glossy. She wasn’t supposed to read fairy tales any more (her stepmother said she was much too old for them) but her favourite had always been the story of the captive who let down her hair from her high window so that the charming prince could climb up to her. Amelia had never cut her hair. It had grown long enough to sit on, but not much longer than that, to her great disappointment.

Eventually, she climbed down the ladder to the cabin. There she found Meg working at some embroidery, and Percival immersed in a pile of books with worn and peeling leather covers. At least another humiliating game of chess was out of the question for the time being, with the table occupied. Amelia looked anxiously out of the open front hatch, where the two giant snails proceeded through the woods unsupervised. Still, as Meg had said, they seemed to know where they were going.

“Sleep well?” Meg asked, and continued without waiting for an answer, “Sorry to have set off and all while you were still snoring, but we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. We should make Lannersmeet before lunchtime. Feel free to get yourself some breakfast,” she added. “Make yourself at home.”

Amelia turned to the tiny kitchen nook. The kitchen at home had been as familiar to her as her own arms and legs. Here, with the stove and the sink and the cupboards all piled into one crouched conglomeration of cast iron doors and knobs, she didn’t know where to begin.

“What’s that?” Meg stuck her head out of the porthole window.

“What’s what?”

“That rustling, up there…” In a flash Meg was out on the driver’s seat, and as Amelia followed hesitantly, Meg began climbing up a set of handholds on the outer walls of the snailcastletank. Amelia didn’t know what the madwoman was talking about. Passing through the leafy green woods in a carriage pulled by two enormous snails, surely a little rustling was only to be expected!

“Slow ‘em up a bit, Amelia,” Meg called down, for by now she had almost reached the top of the swaying tower. “Go on; just give the reins a good firm pull. Don’t worry about hurting Mimi and Tallulah, they’re tough old girls,” she added, mistaking Amelia’s reluctance for fear of hurting the beasts. Amelia had never so much as ridden a pony before, and wasn’t remotely confident of her ability to stop a ton or two of mollusc.

Fortunately, just as she was in the process of steeling her nerves to take hold of the reins and pull, Percival reached over and did it for her. “Meg? What is it?” he called up.

“Funny noises, up in the trees. Listen, Amelia, and tell me what you can hear.”

Keen to make a better impression than she had with the games table, Amelia listened: to the clank of harness and reins; the rumble of the snailcastletank’s internal workings; the rustle, crunch and snap of undergrowth as they rolled over it; to the slimy, sucking noises of the two giant snails. Around them, the gentle breeze whispered continuously through the trees, all of springtime’s little songbirds chirping and whistling.

“Rustling?” Amelia tried. “B-birdsong?”

“Not so much a rustling, as a clicking… Oh!” Meg ducked, just as a flash of something whizzed over her head, bright as liquid sunshine. Amelia ducked too, although it had been far above her. The whirring noise lingered, droning in the dappled shadows beneath the trees, drawing close, then receding, then close again.
Like a wasp
. Amelia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in alarm. If such things as seven foot high snails really existed, then why not giant wasps, too? And that thing had been as big as a hawk, at least…

Nevertheless, Meg stayed clinging to her precarious perch on the side of the tower, still trying to get a glimpse of the mysterious creature. “Perce, fetch me that cage!” she ordered, just as the thing came swooping back at head height. “Ooh, you little beast!” she cried, as the thing snatched at the curls of her straw-coloured hair. When the swooping, glittering pest came back for another dive, Meg lashed out, smacking the creature smartly into the wall of the snailcastletank. It bounced off and circled drunkenly until it ventured close enough for Meg to hit it again. It narrowly missed Amelia on the way down, and hit the driver’s seat with a clang. Warily looking closer, Amelia saw that the thing was a little dragon, gleaming gold and ever so pretty in the sunlight shining through the trees. Only on close inspection could she see that it didn’t appear to be a living creature at all, but a painstakingly detailed construction of metal, with gemstone eyes. Its gears whirred and it made a pitiful noise as it tried to get up.

Percival came out to the driver’s seat with a ridiculously delicate-looking gilt birdcage, and scooped the dragonette up in his armoured hand.

“Oh, poor little thing,” said Amelia, as Percival deposited it in the gilt cage.

“
‘Poor little thing?’
” Meg climbed back down, grimacing as she examined her bruised hand. “Did you see the way it went for me?”

Amelia had to admit that she’d be nervous of the delicate little creature still, if it weren’t for the cage. The dragonette’s curved golden talons looked as sharp as a cat’s claws. But it was so dainty, and so pretty…

“What’s it for, do you suppose?” asked Percival. “Do you think it’s a spy?”

“If I had any sense, I’d take it apart and find out exactly what it’s for,” Meg mused, peering at her troublesome captive. Regaining its senses, the clockwork dragonette got up unsteadily, hopping about the cage.

“Oh, no!” Mechanical or not, Amelia couldn’t bear the thought of seeing such a beautiful thing destroyed.

“‘Course, I’ve always been too sentimental for my own good. And I reckon I already know what it is,” Meg added.

“It’s a lovely piece of work,” said Percival, sounding worried that it might be necessary to dismantle the dragonette in spite of sentimentalism.

“Yes, almost too pretty to be just a spying device. But perhaps that’s what they
want
us to think.” She snorted in amusement. “Listen to me; I’m getting as bad as you, Perce.”

“Who are
‘they’
?” asked Amelia, but Meg and Percival were too concerned with their little captive.

“We can’t let it free again if it might be
a spy,” said Percival. “Who knows how long it’s been following us, how much it might have heard. Aren’t you worried it might be able to send messages by magical means, even from the cage? What are you going to do with it?”

“I should say it’s safe enough where it is,” said Meg. “Look here, Amelia.” She took Amelia by the arm and directed her attention to a set of marks engraved on a plate on the front of the cage. “Wherever you see this mark on something, that means it’s made of amaranthine. Gold-plated, here, but that’s just to make it look fancy.”

Before Amelia could ask what amaranthine was, or the meaning of the other marks, Percival interrupted. “And are you going to tell her that cage’s
intended
purpose?” he asked, meaningfully.

Meg glared at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she snapped at his expressionless visor, “You know I’ve never used it for that. But you can’t say it hasn’t come in handy.”

“What’s it for?” asked Amelia, not sure she wanted to know.

For a moment, Meg looked like she wouldn’t answer. Then, “Fairies. It’s for trapping and keeping fairies. Not that I approve of such nonsense, but it was a gift and besides, amaranthine isn’t the sort of thing you just throw away. It has some extremely useful magical properties,” she told Amelia, intent on continuing her impromptu lesson despite Percival’s interruptions.

“I’d melt it down, if it were mine,” said Percival, sulkily. “Not that I’d have accepted such a ‘gift’ in the first place…”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of… I’ve told you before, I don’t much approve of trapping fairies. I’ll even admit they’re reasonable creatures, left well enough alone. And anyway, if you want to get all up in arms over something, try this beastly little device here. A spy for sure, and who knows how long it’s been following us.”

Amelia examined the cage: the slender close-set bars and the way some of the gold had flaked away, revealing a dull purplish-grey metal beneath. She’d never seen a fairy, only read about them in books. She hadn’t even known that they were real.

“All right,” said Meg, swooping in to lift the cage, and making the clockwork dragonette squawk in surprise. “Show’s over. Everybody back indoors.”

The snails continued through the woods, completely unruffled by events.

~

At sight of a tea house at a crossroads up ahead, the snailcastletank drew to a halt – as per Meg’s plans, they’d reached Lannersmeet just about lunchtime. Besides the tea house, Lannersmeet turned out to consist of not much more than a few small cottages, sleepy and quiet in the sun.

Meg studied the multitude of signs bristling from the signpost at the crossroads, where four roads led off into the unknown, and one back to Springhaven. “This looks like a good place to stop for a bite to eat,” she announced. “Put your books away, Perce.”

They tethered the snails in the shade at the side of the road, Meg leaving them with the patted assurance that she would be back in no time at all, and went into the tea house.

The place was already busy with merchants, making deals or chatting amiably over their drinks, but they moved aside quickly enough to let Percival through, and the two women followed in his wake to a reasonably secluded booth.

“So, are you getting used to the idea of Mimi and Tallulah?” Percival asked, while Meg went to fetch food. Amelia detected more than a hint of amusement in his tone, but she couldn’t make up her mind if she imagined the smile behind the visor to be sympathetic or teasing.

“I don’t think I’ll
ever
get used to them. Giant snails? Honestly?” She’d never heard of such a thing.

“Oh, yes. They would have been a relatively common sight in this part of the world, thousands of years ago. What tremendous pests they must have been… Nearly extinct now, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if Meg’s were the only two left.”

“Good,” said Amelia with feeling, then regretted it, mostly because she couldn’t see the knight’s expression.

“I wouldn’t say that sort of thing to Meg, if I were you,” he said, rather stiffly. Then he leaned down to add in a softer tone, “and if you think Mimi and Tallulah are bad, you should see the old Mammoth Battlesnail shells in the Iletian Museum. I remember visiting the museum as a young boy. The biggest of the shells must have been eighteen feet across – so big I could easily have climbed inside it – and its spines would have made Mimi and Tallulah’s look like no more than pins in a pincushion.”

“Oh,” said Amelia, feeling a bit light-headed at the thought. She wondered if that had been the inspiration for him to don his own apparently permanent armour, his own shell, but didn’t like to ask. Having hoped that lunch would finally give her the opportunity to find out if he was handsome or not, he disappointed her by declining to join them in their meal. However, while they waited for their food to arrive, Meg raised an interesting topic again. “So, would you like to learn a little gesture magic?”

As much as it had sounded a casual question, Amelia saw the look in Meg’s eyes and knew the correct answer at once. “Yes please.”

Meg pushed back her sleeves, slipping off one bracelet from each wrist, and half a dozen of her rings. “Firstly, let’s see how these fit you,” and she helped Amelia place the rings on the correct digits. “Not bad, not bad. I dare say my old set from before I married will fit you perfectly. That’ll save the time and expense of having you fitted for your own set new, at least. Don’t do that, dear,” she said, as Amelia turned her hands this way and that in the sunlight shining through the window, admiring the fine workmanship that had gone into the jewellery. “You never know what might happen, if you just start gesticulating wildly like that.”