Starborn Page 2

  “How did you get it?”

  “Just picked it up. Like I just picked up the story.”

  “You said it was a secret story.”

  “It is. But, if you’d ever been Up Top you’d know that people forget about roffles. Because we talk in our Up Top voices they think we’re a bit stupid. They say all sorts of things they wouldn’t want us to hear, if they were thinking about it.”

  Tadpole sat on the pack again.

  Silence licked round them and Tadpole didn’t know how to make a sound again. At last, Delver said, “Roffles don’t do magic. Never have.”

  Tadpole answered him quickly, too quickly. “I know. I just want to see it.”

  Delver waited.

  “How did you know?” asked Tadpole.

  “When I was a young roffle I wanted to do magic,” he said. “You’re not the first. And when I saw it, Up Top, when I saw what it could do, I wanted it more than ever.”

  “That’s it,” said Tadpole. “I’ve got to see it.”

  “Seeing it makes it worse,” said Delver.

  “It can’t.”

  “It does. You just want to do magic yourself more than ever. But,” he added, “it’s better to see magic and not do it, than never to see it.”

  Tadpole jumped to his feet. Delver held out his hand for silence.

  “One day, you will go Up Top,” he said. “But you have to wait until the kravvins are gone.”

  He lowered his hand but Tadpole didn’t answer.

  “Anyway,” he said, “you’ll need a roffle pack when you go, and you may as well have that one.”

  “I can’t.”

  “There’s no other way of getting one now, is there? Go on, take it.”

  Tadpole started to lift it.

  “Wait. You may as well put that thing in there.” He pointed and Tadpole lifted the lid and put the shield in, without looking inside. “And tuck the knife into your belt. You never know when you might want to peel an apple. But you’d better not let anyone see you’ve got a pack. They might jump to conclusions. Go on now. Before I change my mind.”

  “Thank you. I promise that—”

  “Shh. No promises. Just remember. I’m telling you very clearly. Understand. You must not go Up Top until the kravvins are all gone and your father gives you permission. Is that clear?”

  “But…”

  “What?”

  “You gave me your pack.”

  “And I’ve told you not to go. Right?”

  Tadpole grinned.

  “Right.”

  “Get out, then. And come back and see me soon. All right?”

  “I will.”

  “And take that memmont with you, before it creeps in and makes a tidy of my things.”

  The memmont was asleep under the tree.

  “Come on home,” said Tadpole, stroking him awake. “I want to show you something.”

  The creature looked at him as though it understood what he had said and followed him into the house.

  “Look at this,” said Tadpole, opening the door and letting the memmont in with him.

  Tadpole had been working secretly in the box room, trying to make it like Delver’s house.

  The memmont sprang on to a broken wardrobe and started to straighten the door on its twisted hinges. The creature’s slender fingers were strong and they bent the metal back into shape as though it was pastry dough. Before Tadpole could stop him the memmont had ordered the doors so that they hung straight and it was rummaging inside, sorting piles of old sheets and blankets, broken toys and boxes of screws, empty bottles, a paperweight, a comb with missing teeth.

  “That’s enough,” said Tadpole.

  He spoke sharply and the memmont cast a reproachful look over its shoulder.

  “Sorry,” said Tadpole. “Stop that now and come here.”

  The memmont forced itself away from the wardrobe, but not before it straightened one last pile of papers and an old hat.

  Tadpole stroked its neck. It sat next to him and licked the back of his hand.

  “You can’t always be tidying,” said Tadpole.

  The memmont blinked and put its head to one side.

  “I mean, I know that’s what memmonts do, and it’s good. But not here. Not now.”

  Tadpole, not for the first time, felt how difficult it was to make himself understood. If his mother and father didn’t know what he liked and what he thought was worthwhile, how could he expect a memmont to?

  “Sometimes it’s good for things to be tidy,” he said. “But not everything. And if this place was tidy…” He paused and looked at the closed door. “If this place was tidy, then anyone could find what’s in here, couldn’t they? I like things to be jumbled sometimes.”

  The memmont moved a sly paw to one side and straightened a drawer in a scruffy desk.

  “I saw that,” Tadpole warned him. “No more tidying.”

  He gave the memmont a friendly scratch on its head.

  “I’m going to show you something,” he said.

  He moved the memmont aside and opened a little cupboard in the kneehole of the desk that it had just tried to tidy. He drew out a box, big enough to hold two two-pound loaves of bread. Leaning against the desk, he put the box on the floor in front of them and opened it.

  “I found these in here,” he said, “a couple of months ago.”

  He opened the box. The memmont’s busy fingers darted in and, as fast as a flea’s leap, the contents were all in order and arranged ready to read on the floor.

  “No. Stop it. I mean it.”

  The memmont nuzzled its nose against Tadpole’s neck. He laughed.

  “No. Really. Do you know what this is?” he asked. “Of course you don’t. No one knows. Only me.”

  There were five big notebooks, with stiff covers. There were loose pages, covered in writing and tied with blue string. There were other pages with exquisite ink drawings, sometimes just one to a page, others where the whole page was covered with pictures woven into each other so that there was no empty paper to be seen.

  Tadpole ignored the loose pages and opened the top notebook.

  “This belonged to Megapoir,” he said to the memmont, which looked back at him as though it understood. “He was my great-great-something-grandfather. I don’t know how many greats.” He put his head close to the memmont and whispered, “He knew Flaxfield. He was his friend.”

  He showed the memmont the pages, covered with closely written notes.

  “This is his diary. And these—” he showed it the loose papers — “are letters from a friend Up Top. A wizard. Called Waterburn.”

  Tadpole looked at the locked door again.

  “And there are directions,” he said. “To Flaxfield’s house. From here.”

  He snapped the book shut and put it back into the roffle pack with the other books and papers, except for one, which he folded and put into his pocket.

  “I’m going there,” he whispered. “To Flaxfield’s house. Now.”

  The memmont stood up and followed him to the door.

  “You stay here,” said Tadpole. “I’m just going for one hour. Well, perhaps longer. I don’t know what time it is there. But I’m going to Flaxfield’s house. There won’t be any danger there. And I’ll wait until it’s night.”

  He slung Delver’s roffle pack on to his shoulders, and, making his way to the front door, walked out into the light.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  The memmont sat and looked up at him. Tadpole felt he needed to explain.

  “I just want to see the day turn to night. To see the sky go black. To watch the stars come out. That’s all. And I want to see magic. I’ll be back before anyone knows I’ve gone. Now, stay there.”

  He walked past the Up Top door three times, looking as though he wasn’t interested in it, to make sure no one saw him go through. When he was sure that no one was looking he opened it and stepped through, as fast as he could, and kicked it shut behind him. Or nearly shut. He d
idn’t notice the memmont slip through. And the memmont, which knew just how important it was to keep the doors closed, folded its fingers over the handle and closed it with a soft, secret swish.

  Tadpole consulted his paper and took the passageway to the left, then up and round a corner and left again. And there it was. As near as that.

  “It can’t be,” he said. He checked his paper. “As close as this, all the time.”

  It seemed right, so he folded the paper, put it away and opened the door. It was thick and wide and solid, so he braced himself to push hard, and was taken by surprise when it moved as easily as the door to the pantry at home.

  “Right,” he said, and stepped through, round a gloomy bend and was, all at once, Up Top.

  It wasn’t dark, so there were no stars. He was standing at the corner of a house, with a garden, a fence where the ground sloped down to a river. He could smell fish cooking. He moved slowly, quietly, round the corner and found himself face to face with a monster.

  “Kravvins,” he said.

  He tried to run back but the creature was too quick for him and seized his arm, holding him fast.

  Tadpole shouted again,

  as loudly as he could.

  “Kravvins!”

  The creature’s hand bit into his arm. Thin fingers folded tight. Its face was almost human. It was cross-hatched with ridges and furrows, raised white skin seared through dark-red flesh. No lips, not really, just a line for a mouth. The eyelids barely met when the creature blinked. Thin straggles of hair fringed a blue scarf tied tightly on the head, knotted at the back.

  Tadpole grabbed his roffle pack and swung it at the creature. He tripped and fell against it and a hand closed over his mouth, choking his cries.

  A man came round the corner of the house.

  “What have you got there?” he said.

  After the man, a boy. And a girl. And two women, one old, one of an age that didn’t disclose itself.

  “It’s a roffle,” said the monster.

  Tadpole bit the fingers and the hand jumped away.

  “Kravvins!” he shouted. “Help. Kravvins.”

  The hand jammed back down on his mouth.

  The boy came and put his face close to Tadpole’s.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “If she lets you go will you promise not to shout?”

  She?

  Tadpole looked at their faces. It seemed as though the man was trying not to laugh. The old woman was looking over Tadpole’s head at the creature, a trace of apology over her face.

  Tadpole nodded.

  The hand came away.

  He scuttled forward, dragging his pack after him. He looked around and the creature had pulled a scarf round its face, leaving only the eyes in sight.

  “I’m so sorry,” said the old woman.

  The creature walked past her and into the house.

  “Why did you do that?” said the boy.

  Tadpole remembered to answer with a roffle question. “Why does a horse hit a hammer on an acorn?” he asked.

  “Oh, stop it. My name’s Sam. What’s yours?”

  “Tadpole.”

  “Come on, then. Follow me. And forget that roffle talk.”

  Tadpole followed them in.

  It was Tadpole’s first meeting with Up Top people and he knew it had not got off to a good start. He liked the house. His first Up Top house. Bigger than a roffle house, but people were bigger than roffles, so, what else? He liked the room, a kitchen, fragrant with the scent of fresh fish, and furnished as a comfortable parlour as well.

  The old woman gave Tadpole a hard look, though not without some kindness.

  “This lady is called December,” she said, indicating the monster. “And I’m Flaxfold.” She pointed to the girl. “This is Tamrin.” The girl scowled. “This is—”

  “Don’t bother,” the man interrupted her. “He’s not staying long enough to get acquainted.”

  “He’s called Tadpole,” said Sam.

  “Tell me your name now,” said Tadpole, standing in front of the man and glaring at him.

  Flaxfold laughed.

  “Serves you right, Axestone,” she said. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  No one introduced the other woman, and she said nothing.

  They all sat round the table. The boy offered to cook for December.

  “No. I’m not hungry. Thank you.”

  “I caught eight,” said Sam. “Just in case.”

  “No. I ate on the way.”

  Tadpole didn’t believe her. She still had her scarf wrapped round her face. The Axestone person stared at him. The slim woman looked as though she might smile. The Flaxfold poured a drink and handed him the beaker.

  “Just in case there’s a roffle,” she said.

  “Eh?” asked Sam.

  “You caught eight, just in case, and here he is.” She gestured to Tadpole. “So you’d better cook it for him.”

  “No, thank you,” said Tadpole. “I’m not hungry.” He didn’t want to eat where he wasn’t welcome.

  “All right,” said Sam. He sat down next to December. A ripple of alarm went through Tadpole when she put her hand on Sam’s and squeezed it. He couldn’t bear the thought of her touch. And he was starving. He shrugged his pack from his shoulders and sat on it, roffle-fashion. Light to carry, perfect to sit on. He looked at the trout by the pan and at the plates on the table with the heads, tails and bones of the fish on them. He looked at the crusty bread, the yellow butter, the apples.

  The big man laughed and poked Sam in the ribs.

  “Ask him again,” he said.

  “What?”

  Tadpole wished more than anything in the Deep World that he had never ventured Up Top. He almost thought he’d rather have been killed by kravvins than have to endure the embarrassment of this kitchen and these people looking at him and laughing at him.

  Flaxfold rapped her knuckles on the table.

  “Enough,” she said. “December, dear. I’m so sorry this young roffle upset you, but it really isn’t his fault, I think.”

  The woman nodded, her face still covered.

  “We’re your friends,” she went on. “We’re used to you. This poor thing can’t have been Up Top before. Have you?”

  Tadpole shook his head.

  “You see? He had no idea. Sam, look after him. There’s a good lad.”

  “I’ll cook three,” he said. “Waterburn’s here. He’ll be with us in a minute. And December will have one, won’t you?”

  She looked at him.

  “Please,” he said.

  She loosened the scarf from her face and let it fall away. Tadpole looked at the wrecked features.

  “I was burned,” she said to him. “Long ago. Other than that, I’m just as these others. Not a kravvin.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tadpole. “You frightened me.”

  “I know.”

  Waterburn appeared in the doorway.

  “Is that trout?” he asked.

  There were hugs and handshakes, kisses and smiles. Tadpole watched them, feeling left out again. He noticed that Waterburn and December were shy with each other and wondered why. They hugged longer but said less to each other.

  “Who’s this?” Waterburn asked, at last.

  “He’s not staying. He’s just a roffle,” said Tamrin.

  Tadpole had had enough of being treated like an intruder.

  “Who’s a bigger pig than a donkey, and what does it want going round a shoemaker’s shed?” he said.

  When they all laughed he turned as red as riches and made a step towards the door.

  “Whoa,” said Waterburn. “Stop there. Please.” He took Tadpole’s hand and shook it. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. “You know my name. Please tell me yours.”

  Tadpole relaxed, and felt the pleasure of the man’s greeting. The girl made an unpleasant noise and turned away.

  “Don’t mind her,” said Waterburn. “It’s a while since I saw a roffle, and it does
me good to meet you.”

  Now the slim woman came over and put her hand on Tadpole’s shoulder.

  “Eloise,” she said.

  Tadpole couldn’t look at her. He just nodded.

  By the time the introductions were made the fish was cooked and they set to. Conversation faltered, then. The ones who had eaten first chatted to the others. Tadpole felt that they were just finding things to say before they got down to something serious. This was a meeting, not a party. He had worked that out. And some of them had travelled a long way to be there. So it was important.

  Like every roffle, Tadpole loved his food. But, even though the trout was delicious, he found it hard to give it his full attention. He wanted to know what was happening.

  When the meal was done and the table cleared and the dishes washed there was an uncomfortable silence. They all looked at each other and then they looked at Flaxfold. Tadpole knew that it was her house now. It was her meeting. She should start. They expected it.

  “Flaxfold,” said Axestone. “Time to start. You’re in charge.”

  “No,” she said. “Sam is. And Tamrin.”

  “First,” said Axestone, “we need to say goodbye to the roffle.”

  He stood and made a movement to show Tadpole to the door. Tadpole gripped the sides of his barrel.

  “Can’t I stay?”

  “Of course not.” Axestone seemed to be used to taking control. “Thank you for visiting. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Now, if you’ll just say your goodbyes and find your roffle door you can go home.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t go yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Tadpole couldn’t go because he had never had such a sense of an important occasion. Something was happening here, something he didn’t want to miss.

  “Why can’t you go?” asked Axestone.

  Tadpole remembered that he had to disguise his speech Up Top.

  “Why can’t a mouse boil a windmill?” he asked. Not the best reply, a bit simple, but the most he could manage in the rush. Everyone laughed — even, for the first time since he had seen her, December. And when she did, some of the horror of her face melted and he saw something of beauty in her.