Catherine Fisher - The Margrave-crow 4

In the astonished silence the flames crackled comfortably. Then the Sekoi gave a low purr.

After a moment Galen said, “You do right to chide me. Even in the heart of the worst it seems the Makers still move.” He looked at her sidelong. “And the girl?”

“I saw no more of them, master. I walked for two days before sleeping in that ravine. Before the beasts . . .” She stopped suddenly, her eyes flooding.

“That’s enough.” Galen stood and helped her up. “You must sleep. Tomorrow we take you home.” He helped her over to the blankets, talking quietly.

Raffi washed the pan. The Sekoi watched him. Then it wrapped the rest of the fruit up and said suddenly, “Raffi. What is going on?”

“Going on? What do you mean?”

It was silent so long he turned and stared at it. It looked troubled. Finally it said, “For a long time, as you know, I thought Carys was not to be trusted. After our adventure with the Coronet I found to my shame that I was wrong. I would hate to go back to those suspicions.”

Raffi dropped the pan. “Why should you?”

“Carys is skilled at evading pursuit,” the Sekoi said quietly.

“No one better.”

“Indeed.” The creature leaned back against the stump, folding its arms. “No one better. At running, hiding, not being taken by surprise. So why do I feel so strongly that she let them capture her ?”

A spark stung Raffi’s hand, but he barely felt it. “What?” he whispered.

5

In his castle, Halen dreamed.

He walked the silent corridors and in the

mirrors saw only his own face.

Outside, the world descended into

Chaos. “Something evil is searching for

me,” he whispered.

Book of the Seven Moons

THEY WERE TREATING HER LIKE an honored guest, Carys thought wryly.

The straw was almost clean and the drinking water had only two dead spiders in it. The plate that had been banged in through the grille of the door had bread and cheese on it, and there had even been a flea-ridden blanket in one corner of the cell to make a softer bed. Scratching the bites it had given her, her whole body stiff with the damp and the hard stones, she rolled over and sat up against the wall, pulling her jerkin on and pushing the sleep-tangled hair from her eyes. But she’d slept surprisingly well.

By the noise outside and the shaft of sunlight that slanted down the narrow embrasure of the window, it was early morning. All the work of the castle was well under way; wagons crunching by outside, the trudge of weary feet. She grinned. Maybe she wouldn’t have to work after all. Pulling the plate over, she began to eat hungrily, glancing around. The cell was big. A few rusty chains hung from one wall. In the wand of light from the window she could see scratches on the damp stones; names, verses, dates laboriously crossed off. They might be worth a look later.

The cheese was strong, almost going bad, but she was glad of it. When she’d finished the last strip of bread, she fished the spiders out of the water and drank, then soaked the end of her sleeve and washed her face. Until she stopped, listening. There was a lot of noise outside; hammering, voices and yells, the clatter of wheels and marset hooves, but close by, insistent, there was something else. It was tiny, and it was inside the cell.

Tapping. An urgent, quiet tapping. After a second, she knew where it was coming from. The wall facing her was of stone, rough-edged, the ancient mortar black and crumbling. Faint wet smudges of green algae glistened on its hacked facets. The tapping came from the other side; as she crawled closer she saw a tiny crack deep in the corner.

Picking up a piece of loose stone she tapped back. There was silence. Then a whisper, hoarse and eager. “I thought you’d never hear me.”

She groaned to herself. Of course, it was the spotty boy; she’d seen them put him in the cell last night. Still, there was something she wanted to know from him.

“Have they fed you?” he whispered.

“Never mind that.” She put her face close to the crack. “How did you know they were bringing us here? Out on the road, when you said the castle?” She could almost feel him grin.

“My secret. But like I said, get ready. It’s all fixed, and when we break out, believe me, it’ll be big!”

“Fixed? By who?”

“My uncle.” His voice was breathless; his eagerness to tell her everything filled her with contempt and pity. “He’s behind it. Everyone’s terrified of him.”

“He’s going to break you out?” she asked, puzzled.

“No! The whole place is full of his people. The Watch have no idea! Lots of the workmen, the prisoners, are under his orders; we’ve been infiltrating this place for weeks. I was in on the plan from the start. Well”—he gave an odd, self-conscious laugh—“you could almost say it was my idea, really. He thinks the world of me. I just said, “Uncle, I’ve got this brilliant—’ ”

“I’m sure,” Carys said acidly, “but what’s the use of having all your men made workslaves?”

“Don’t you see! It’s a stroke of genius. When he attacks, we let him in. We’ve got weapons, brought in under the cartloads of stone. The Watch will never know what hit them!” His voice fidgeted, as if he was wriggling in delight.

Carys shook her head. “It would take an army. And what about—”

“We’ve got an army! My uncle’s the most ferocious warlord there is!”

Bolts rattled. Instantly, Carys jerked away from the crack.

Voices rang in the stone corridor, keys clinked; it sounded as though the prisoners were being taken out to join in the work. She listened, catching the rattle of chains, waiting for them to come for her, but no one did, and the shuffle of feet and barked orders died away into an eerie silence. As if the place were empty.

After a few minutes she edged back to the crack. “Are you still there?”

No answer. So it seemed she really was spared hauling stone. That was one good thing; it gave her time to work out what to do. And for something else.

She got up, went to the door, and lifted the grille as far as it would go, a dark slot in the rusty metal of the door. Then, with all her concentration, she listened. It took at least five long minutes before she was absolutely sure there was no sentinel outside, or anywhere in the corridor. Someone was talking, but the low voices were a long way off, probably in the guardroom near the gatehouse. It seemed safe. In any case, she’d have to take the chance.

Going to the darkest corner of the cell she worked quickly. Shrugging her jerkin off, she undid the third wooden toggle. Only it wasn’t wood, just carefully painted to look that way. It came apart easily, the Maker-material smoothly unscrewing, and inside it tiny lights pulsed, green and blue. There was a small button in the center; she pressed it and held it down, counting the seconds off silently. Four minutes. To make sure she made contact. She released the pressure, counted one minute, then repeated the procedure, every muscle in her body tensed, listening for the slightest rustle outside the door.

Still no one came.

While the button was held down the lights changed color, blue to red. As soon as the time was up she screwed the whole thing together hastily, pulled the jacket on, and huddled up against the wall, her heart thudding. If they had any way of knowing . . . Of course they didn’t. Calm down, she told herself firmly. It was quiet now, outside. Gradually her mind relaxed.

The boy’s boasting was odd. Especially if it was true. He might just be trying to impress her, but it seemed more than that. Scala worried her more. Carys had foreseen nothing like her. It was obvious the castellan and her captain were working for themselves—they wanted to know where Raffi was so they could pass the information on and pocket the rewards.