Emily Rodda - Shadowgate

When Fern’s body had been moved, Rust left the companions alone to re-pack their scattered belongings. At last they could speak freely.

Jasmine called Kree to her and began tending to the wound on the back of his neck. He squawked and clucked as she cleaned the raw place and smeared it with more of the green ointment.

‘Kree says he saw it all,’ Jasmine said in a low voice. ‘Fern came and began searching our packs. He was trying to decide what to do when the phantom appeared from the shadows and attacked her.’

‘“Beware the Masked One”,’ Barda frowned. ‘Are you sure Fern did not say “the Masked Ones ”, Lief?’

‘I am sure,’ Lief said slowly. ‘She meant only one person. If only she had given a name! Then we could have told Bess which of her people is conjuring up the phantom. Whoever it is, is growing stronger. The thing was clearer this time. It had more shape. And its face—or whatever horror was inside its hood—gleamed green.’

‘The sorcerer may be Bess herself,’ said Barda. ‘She said the phantom watches over you. And both its victims were intent on doing you harm.’

‘But when Otto was attacked, Bess did not even know I existed!’ Lief objected.

‘Still, both deaths were certainly connected with us,’ Jasmine said. The sorcerer must be someone who wants to drive us away from the troupe.’

‘We have a wide choice, then,’ growled Barda. ‘The whole of the inner circle, except Bess, wants us gone.’

‘Well, as far as I am concerned, they can have their wish,’ Lief said flatly. ‘Let us tell Bess that we wish to leave at once—and tell her in front of others. That is the best way of ensuring our safety, and the safety of everyone else here.’

‘It is,’ Jasmine agreed. ‘And I, for one, will be very glad to go.’

‘I, too,’ said Barda. ‘Though I do not relish the idea of telling Bess.’

By the time the village clock struck ten, it was as if the attack had never happened.

Fern the seamstress had been buried. Fern’s grieving husband had been given a potion and had fallen into a drugged sleep. Life in the camp had returned to normal. And Lief, Barda and Jasmine were again sitting at the purple-draped table outside Bess’s wagon, while Kree kept silent watch in the tree above their heads.

They were eating dinner, served once again by Rust. The meal was nearly finished, but still they had not spoken of what was most on their minds. Then, suddenly, Bess gave them their chance.

‘This has been a hard day,’ she said, spooning the last of her soup into her mouth. ‘The new people—especially the orphans—are growing restless. We need a performance to lift their spirits—to make them know how fine it is to be a Masked One.’

She sighed heavily. ‘Plainly we must forget our plans to perform here. We must go east to Purley, I fear. I have never liked the place, but at least we know that we will have a good audience there.’

Barda cleared his throat. ‘What a great pity!’ he said. ‘If you are returning to the east, I fear that we must part company with you.’

‘What?’ Bess dropped her spoon with a clatter. ‘But you cannot leave us! Lewin has a great future before him. You, too, Berry, from all I have heard. And even young Jay—’

‘Ah, well, it cannot be helped,’ Barda said firmly. ‘As you know, my nephews and I have always planned to go to the west.’

Lief glanced at Rust. Her eyes were shining with amazed relief.

You did not expect this, did you, Rust? he thought. You were so sure we were spies, and would cling to the troupe as long as we could. Well, you were wrong. Soon you will be rid of us. And we will be rid of you!

Bess was panting, as if she had been running. She turned to Lief.

‘Surely you do not want this, do you, Lewin?’ she demanded.

‘I am sorry, Bess, but my first loyalty must be to my uncle,’ Lief said, grateful that he did not have to hurt her even further by admitting he wanted to leave. ‘Wherever he goes, I must go too.’

Bess bowed her head, struggling to calm herself. ‘Well,’ she mumbled. ‘This has been a great shock.’

At last she looked up. ‘But perhaps it is all for the best,’ she said, smiling bravely. ‘Bring a jug of wildberry wine, if you please, Rust. Berry needs restoring. Quill worked him far too hard this afternoon. And bring some oatcakes with honey for the young ones.’

The fox-woman nodded and hurried away, taking the used dishes from the table with her. Clearly she was in high good humour.

‘Lewin,’ Bess said, ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘What is it, Bess?’ asked Lief cautiously.

‘I want you to go into my wagon, and take the round silver box from beneath my bed,’ Bess said. ‘In the box, you will find a mask. I want you to put that mask on, Lewin, and wear it for me.’

Lief’s stomach turned over.

‘I see by your eyes that you have guessed,’ Bess said. ‘Yes. It is the mask of Bede’s adulthood—the mask he never wore. It would have been yours one day, Lewin, if you had stayed with us.’

She looked down at her folded hands. ‘Now that will never be,’ she said. ‘But it would give me such joy to see you wear it—just for a single hour—on this, our last night together.’

Lief hesitated. He could feel Barda and Jasmine staring at him. No doubt they could see no harm in Bess’s request.

And what was the harm?

He stood up. ‘If it would please you, Bess,’ he said.

He took a lantern from the collection around the table, and moved to the back of the wagon.

The sack that had stood by the door now sagged half empty. A fire burned beneath the black iron pot, which was filled with slowly bubbling liquid that looked like porridge, but smelled strongly of rotten fruit.

Lief wrinkled his nose. Plainly, Bess was cooking some of the roots from the secret field.

I am glad we are leaving tomorrow, if that is to be the Masked Ones’ dinner tomorrow night, he thought.

He entered the wagon, went quickly to the bed and soon found the silver box.

Inside, wrapped in yellow silk, was a magnificent mask—a gleaming blue bird-head, similar to the one he was wearing, but much finer and more lifelike.

Lief reached out and touched it. It seemed to quiver beneath his fingers. For a single, horrible moment it seemed alive. Lief snatched his hand away, his heart beating wildly. He clutched at the Belt of Deltora, hidden beneath his clothes.

Gradually his panic ebbed away. He forced himself to look down.

The mask lay in its bed of silk—a beautiful, lifeless thing of feathers, fabric and paste.

Filled with shame, Lief took off his old mask. At the same moment, the village clock began striking eleven. The sound seemed so loud and clear!

For a few moments he relished his freedom. Then, as the last, ringing chime died away, he gritted his teeth, picked up the new mask, and pulled it on.

8 – Tricks

The mask felt soft and cool against Lief’s skin. It was so light that he could barely feel it. It moulded itself to his face and neck as though it had been made for him. It was almost like wearing no mask at all.

Suddenly he felt more cheerful. He let himself out of the wagon and strode back to where Bess, Barda and Jasmine were waiting.

Bess was lying back in her chair with her eyes closed, but Barda and Jasmine turned to look at him.

Jasmine started, her eyes wide. Barda gave a muffled gasp, and half-rose from his stool.

‘What is wrong?’ Lief asked, confused.

Jasmine swallowed. ‘You look—you look as if you are half bird,’ she whispered. ‘That mask…’