Emily Rodda - The Silver Door

‘Well, I am very grateful you have taken over carrying the trays, my dear, and you are good to make light of it,’ the old woman said to Lisbeth. ‘I did it for years, but my poor knees would not have taken much more of it.’

The third woman turned from the washing up. ‘It is a wicked waste of time and effort, I say,’ she said sharply. ‘Trays in her room three times a day indeed! If it is good enough for the Warden to eat in the dining room, why is it not good enough for his daughter?’

The old woman snorted. ‘If you had been here as long as I have, Bettina, you would know that the Warden likes his daughter to stay out of the way. The very sight of her makes him uncomfortable, they say, and he prefers other people not to see her either.’

‘What?’ cried Lisbeth. ‘But why—?’

‘Well, she should have been a boy, shouldn’t she?’ the old woman said, frowning over her chopping board. ‘The Warden wanted a son who could take his place as leader of Weld. He has no use for a daughter.’

‘Poor child,’ Lisbeth said in a low voice. And Rye, remembering the proud, closed face of the finely dressed young woman he had seen by chance on his first visit to the Keep, suddenly found that he was sharing his mother’s pity for the Warden’s daughter.

Bettina sniffed and went back to her washing up.

‘The girl’s mother, rest her sweet soul, died when the child was only toddling,’ Lisbeth’s companion went on. ‘And the Warden could never make up his mind to marry again, so there have been no more children.’

‘The Warden can never make up his mind to do anything,’ grumbled the woman at the sink.

‘My sons used to say that,’ Lisbeth murmured. ‘The two … who went beyond the Wall.’

She raised her hand to the bib of her apron. Rye guessed that the two flower badges she had been sent when Dirk and Sholto were officially declared lost were pinned to her dress beneath the crisp white cloth.

‘Do not grieve, my dear,’ the old woman muttered to her. ‘At least you know that your youngest is safe in the Centre.’

‘Yes.’ Lisbeth nodded, trying to smile. ‘We may not be together, but Rye at least is safe.’

Rye’s heart seemed to twist in his chest.

‘Rye!’ Dirk called from below. ‘Move on, I beg you! I am stifling!’

And Rye, realising that his brother had not heard their mother’s voice, and knowing there was nothing to be done, pulled the crystal from the chimney wall and let the magic feather draw him on.

The next time he heard voices floating up through a chimney offshoot, he almost did not stop. Then a familiar name came to his ears and he halted abruptly.

‘Tallus, Warden,’ a gruff voice repeated. ‘The Southwall healer. An elderly man, with a limp.’

‘Oh, yes. Tallus. And what does the old nuisance want this time?’

Rye would have known the Warden’s thin, irritable tones anywhere. Quickly he felt for the light crystal again.

‘He says he must see you, sir,’ the gruff voice said. ‘He claims to have made an important discovery about the skimmers.’

Rye pressed the crystal to the chimney wall. Again, it was as if a window had opened in the sooty stone.

He found himself looking down into a room he recognised. It was the waiting room where just a few days ago he had signed the statement all volunteers had to sign before going through the Wall.

He could see the tops of two heads by the polished table he so well remembered. One head was almost bald. It belonged, Rye was sure, to the officer who dealt with the volunteers. The other head, the Warden’s, was engulfed in a large three-cornered red hat from which sprang a forest of nodding white plumes.

‘I cannot see anyone now, Jordan,’ the Warden said fretfully. ‘I have two sympathy scrolls to sign, and must review the changing of the guard very soon. Then there are the evening protection spells to be seen to. And then it will be time for dinner. Tell the old busybody to go away. I will meet with him another day. Possibly. If I have the time.’

The bald man shook his head. ‘He says he will not leave the Keep until he has seen you, sir. He is sitting on the ground outside my office, telling his tale to anyone who will listen. And people are listening to him, sir, unfortunately. Is it your wish that I have him removed by force?’

‘Force? Ah … well, now, yes, perhaps …’

‘Only, he will not go quietly, sir, for sure,’ Jordan went on. ‘And he being so old, and limping as well, it might not look good to the crowd.’

‘No indeed! By the Wall, what a dilemma!’ The Warden wrung his pudgy little hands, then raised them to his hat as if to ensure that it was still securely in place. ‘Perhaps … ah …’

‘Perhaps I should offer him a meal and a bed for the night, and say you will see him in the morning, sir,’ Jordan suggested smoothly.

‘Yes!’ The Warden’s plumes swayed madly as he nodded with obvious relief. ‘That will get him out of the public view for now, at least. See to it, Jordan. At once!’

Rye tucked away the crystal and moved on up the chimney, burning to tell Dirk and Sonia what he had seen.

What had brought Tallus to the Keep? Surely he was not going to try yet again to persuade the Warden to put Sholto’s skimmer repellent into use throughout the city? That idea had been rejected several times already. The Warden flatly refused to admit that a repellent might work where his spells of protection did not.

No, thought Rye. It must be something else— something Tallus has discovered since I saw him, too, for he said nothing of it to me.

At that moment he realised that he could no longer hear the faint sounds of Sonia climbing ahead. No doubt she had grown tired of waiting for him and had hurried on to warn her mysterious ‘friend in high places’ that she was bringing visitors.

Rye raised the red feather above his head, thought of flying, and heard Faene and Dirk gasp as he shot upward, faster than ever before.

In no time at all he heard Sonia’s voice calling him. There she was, a dark figure beckoning in the pale light that leaked into the chimney from yet another fireplace.

‘Here, Rye!’ she called. ‘I have told her. She is waiting to meet you.’

Rye reached her and felt her hand touch his. With a low call of warning to Faene and Dirk he twisted, crouched, and followed Sonia through the fireplace, crawling clumsily into the room beyond.

He fell onto a soft hearthrug, and jumped to his feet, blinking in the sudden brightness. Paintings, tapestries and bookshelves lined the curved walls of the room. A huge, diamond-shaped window with hundreds of shining panes looked out on the pale Weld sky.

Rye realised with a shock that he was in the Keep tower. As his eyes adjusted to the light, as Faene and Dirk clambered out of the fireplace after him, filthy and gasping, he saw a table on which lay an open drawing book, several fine brushes, and pots of coloured ink. He saw curtained doorways that no doubt led into other rooms. He saw a golden harp and a book of music on a stand.

And he saw, standing beside the harp, rigid with disapproval, a dark-haired, finely dressed young woman.

Rye’s jaw dropped as he recognised her.

It was the Warden’s daughter.

4 - The Tower

Thunderstruck, Rye turned quickly to Sonia. Her expression was a strange mixture of nervousness and defiance. Her hair hung in tangled rats’ tails around her face, and her clothes were little more than rags. The contrast between her and the elegant young woman standing stiffly by the harp was absurd, but Rye had no urge to smile.

He felt fearful, and deeply embarrassed. According to the kitchen workers, the Warden’s daughter led a lonely life. No doubt it had amused her to befriend an unruly Keep orphan who made a habit of scrambling through the chimney system and who could bring her gossip and news. But this did not mean that Sonia’s rough companions were welcome here, in her private space. And it certainly did not mean that she was willing to risk hiding them from her father. ‘Nocki, this is Rye,’ Sonia chattered, pulling Rye forward. ‘He was the volunteer who took me through the Wall. Behind him are Faene D’Or, and Rye’s brother Dirk, who we rescued on the other side.’