Emily Rodda - The Third Door

The chieftain swore that the forests of the centre would remain Fellan territory, forbidden to outsiders. The Fellan, in their turn, swore that they would not trouble the newcomers or interfere in the wider affairs of Dorne. And so the agreement was forged, for good or ill, and a charm was struck to be its sign.

‘You see?’ Rye exclaimed. ‘The disc may have been lost for centuries, and Farr’s people may have forgotten how the agreement began, but to the Fellan it still stands.’

He looked up to see Dirk and Sholto exchanging dubious glances and Sonia looking down at her hands.

‘Farr will understand me, even if you do not!’ he said angrily. ‘I am going to him now!’

‘You will not get in to see Farr now, Rye,’ Dirk said, with a kindly patience that Rye, in his present mood, found infuriating. ‘By this time he is again locked away with his councillors.’

‘And if my ears did not deceive me, Rye, you are thought to be an enemy spy,’ Sholto murmured. ‘You should keep out of sight and leave Farr to Dirk and me. We had always planned to see him as soon as he was alone. We will tell him what we know of the enemy, and with luck he will believe us and at least postpone the attack.’

Rye opened his mouth to argue, but Sonia lifted her head and spoke before he could say anything.

‘I agree that Farr will never be persuaded to take the disc to the Fellan,’ she said coolly. ‘And I agree that Rye will be in danger if anyone sees him here.’

‘Good!’ said Dirk, looking rather surprised. ‘So—’

‘So Rye and I will return the disc to the Fellan ourselves, and see what comes of it.’

Dirk was speechless. Rye shook his head. ‘Sonia, I told you, Farr should be the one to—’

‘If Farr is unwilling, someone else must do it,’ Sonia broke in. ‘And who better than you, Rye?’

Her eyes met his. Her voice whispered in his mind.

Who better than the one the Fellan trusted with the nine powers?

‘The Fellan here are not—not friendly to me,’ Rye stammered.

‘They are Fellan, wherever they are,’ Sonia said quietly. ‘However they feel, they will recognise the truth.’

Sholto was watching her intently. She returned his gaze with a defiant toss of her head.

‘You cannot know it is the truth, Sonia!’ Dirk growled. ‘You are relying on a tale from an old book that might be nothing but make-believe!’

‘Could I see it, Rye?’ Sholto asked, holding out his hand.

A little reluctantly, Rye passed over the book. Sholto began flipping through it, scanning a few sentences here and there as he had always done at home when he was deciding if something was worth reading.

‘Interesting,’ he said after a moment, and went back to the beginning.

Dirk frowned. ‘I do not care how interesting it is! Rye cannot go into danger, chasing after a myth that may or may not be real!’

‘It is real,’ Rye said stoutly. ‘And Sonia is right. If Farr is out of the question, she and I must go to the Fellan. You cannot stop us, Dirk!’

Dirk stared at him for a long moment, then grimaced. ‘No, I cannot stop you. Once I could have done, I daresay, little brother, but those days are gone.’

Ruefully he rubbed his forehead with his good hand. ‘Very well—have it your own way. But not before you have helped us release Jett. I doubt Sholto and I can do it alone, the way we are. We will need the hood and the key, at least.’

‘Surely Jett is safe enough where he is for now,’ Sholto objected, his eyes on the book.

‘He is not,’ said Dirk grimly. ‘If Jett stays in the watchtower he will not survive the night. Nothing is more certain.’

Rye felt a thrill of horror. ‘But Farr would never allow—’

‘Farr will have nothing to do with it. Somehow the real assassin will manage the business so that it looks as if Jett killed himself rather than face questioning. We cannot let that happen. Jett is one of our own. He has been falsely accused—’

‘How can you know that?’ Sonia demanded, frowning.

‘Because I know him,’ Dirk said simply. ‘He was one of the Northwall volunteers. Joliffe, Crell and I met him at the Keep. Jett was the leader of the Northwall riots. He is passionately loyal to Weld. He would never have tried to kill Farr, who is facing the same enemy as Weld and is our natural ally.’

Sholto looked up, his finger marking his place. ‘Then the proofs of his guilt must have been planted in his room.’

‘Yes,’ Dirk said grimly. ‘And if he dies tonight without speaking, the real spy will be safe and free to try again.’

There was no more to be said. Even Sonia, who was plainly burning to be gone, could not face the thought of leaving Jett to his fate. Trusting the book to Sholto, who plainly did not want to part with it, Rye wrapped the gold casket in the scarf again and tied it back to his belt. Then he slipped the armour shell onto his little finger, and in the shelter of the hood he and Sonia followed Dirk and Sholto to the watchtower.

The tower was only one street back from the river, and looked newer than the shops and dwellings around it. It was built of stone and taller than any building that Rye had ever seen. At the top it was lined with windows. Its base was solid, with a single iron door. The ground in front of it was neatly paved, and behind it was a little park, shaded by graceful old trees.

A few elderly people were sitting in the park, placidly watching children play. The paving outside the iron door, however, was crowded with people who were in a very different mood.

‘Bring him out!’ a man shouted to the soldier standing on guard by the door. ‘We’ll show him what we think of spies and killers!’

Their faces ugly with hate, the people behind him roared and pressed forward.

The four companions drew together so that they all shared the concealment of the hood, but there was no danger. The crowd was far too intent on the door to notice what was happening anywhere else.

‘We can do nothing here,’ Sholto said in a low voice. ‘Unless we wish to be discovered before we begin.’

He was right, of course. Dirk, Rye and Sonia could all see it. The way to the door was completely blocked. If they tried to fight their way through the crowd, invisible and armoured, everyone would know that a rescue attempt was being made—a rescue attempt using magic, too. It would make the guard and the crowd even more convinced that Jett was an enemy assassin. The guards would kill him before they would see him go free.

‘We will just have to wait until the crowd moves away,’ Dirk said, gritting his teeth.

We cannot wait! We must take the disc to the Fell Zone! Time is short!

Rye did not know if the thought was Sonia’s or his own. He looked up. The windows at the top of the tower glinted in the sunlight.

‘The door is not the only way in,’ he said slowly. He felt in the brown bag and pulled out the feather and the golden key.

Sholto’s pale face took on a greenish tinge, but he said nothing. Dirk frowned.

‘I am not sure I can fly with you, Rye,’ he said reluctantly, touching the sling that supported his right arm. ‘This arm is useless, and the burns on the other are still very painful.’

‘Sholto’s leg is plainly not fit for crawling about tower steps either,’ Sonia snapped. ‘Rye and I will go for Jett. You two wait here and decide where he is to be hidden.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Dirk replied dryly.

Sonia’s eyes widened and she shrank back a little as if she had been slapped. Then she recovered and shot Dirk a scathing look.

‘If you have a better plan, by all means tell us what it is,’ she said coldly.