Fireborn Page 29

  Bee couldn’t take her eyes from him, and he kept his on her. He wasn’t talking to the others, he was speaking to her.

  “She doesn’t know who she was the day the magic went wrong, and she doesn’t know who she is since she was remade by the wild magic. She hasn’t even got a name. What’s a wizard without a name? Nothing. What’s any person without a name? Eh?”

  “Stop it,” said Dorwin. “You’re too hard on her. Stop it, Flaxfield.”

  “It’s all right,” Bee whispered. “He’s right.”

  Flaxfield stared Dorwin down.

  “I have got a name, though,” said Bee. “It’s Beatrice. I want to use it again, please.”

  The silence was agreement.

  “And I want to find my own wizard name,” she said. “The one I should have signed on the indenture.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that,” said Flaxfield.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he stole it from you. He signed it himself. It changed him, and it changed you and it’s changed everything. You can’t have it back.”

  Bee felt as though she was falling through the air from a high turret. She put her hands flat on the table to steady herself.

  “I need a name,” she said.

  “You do,” agreed Flaxfield. He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. All at once the pain went, absolutely. For the first time since the fire, no, for the first time for months she felt free of all pain.

  “You’ll have a name,” he said. “If we can defeat Slowin. And to do that we need you to finish what you’ve become.”

  He took the lump of iron. When he lifted his hands from her shoulders the pain trickled back.

  “What is this?” he said.

  She shrugged.

  “What were you making?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Beatrice couldn’t work out how she felt about him. One moment he was the only person who understood her, the next moment he was interrogating her. One moment he taught her how to live with the pain, the next moment he challenged her to work on magic, not to hide away and protect herself from more pain. His hands on her shoulders made her able to be herself again. His hands on the iron dragged her into a world of confusion and doubt. She didn’t know whether she loved him or hated him.

  “Think,” he said.

  She reached her hand out for the iron.

  “I really don’t remember,” she said, “but that’s an eye.”

  “Where?”

  She put her finger on a small bulge.

  “All right. Go on.”

  “That’s the mouth.”

  She put the iron close to her face to see it better. She rubbed it on her puckered cheek.

  “There’s something coming from the mouth,” she said.

  “Is it a person, an animal?” asked Flaxfield.

  Beatrice slammed it on the table.

  “Come with me,” she shouted. “I’ll show you what it is. All right? Will that make you shut up?”

  “I’ll take the boys back to the inn and leave you to it,” said Flaxfold.

  They stared at her.

  “I thought they were with you,” said Dorwin.

  “Then where are they?” said Flaxfold.

  This time Cabbage could see the roffle entrance as soon as Perry pointed it out to him. He was pleased with himself. Spending time in the Deep World had given him a better eye for roffle work.

  “What if the beetles see us?” he asked. “What if they’ve found the door on the other side, in the castle?”

  “Then we’re dead,” said Perry.

  Cabbage nodded.

  “Stupid question,” he said.

  “Do you want to turn back?” asked Perry.

  “I’ll go first.”

  “No. It’s a roffle hole. Roffle in first.”

  Perry pushed through and they were in darkness for a moment before the way turned and opened up and Deep World light spread up from beneath their feet.

  “This doesn’t actually go into the Deep World,” explained Perry. “It’s an Up Top Passage but there are chinks in places, to guide us.”

  The way narrowed again, they slipped round a door frame and found themselves in a dark passage. The little light was not from beneath them now; it came from faults in the mortar and sly slashes in the stonework that the builders had put in for their own assistance.

  “No sign of beetles,” said Perry and Cabbage relaxed a little, not having thought until then that he was tense.

  They were in the secret tunnels and passageways in the walls.

  “Let’s go up,” said Cabbage. “Away from ground level.”

  “Left or right?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Cabbage hated enclosed spaces. The passageway was narrow, low and alternately damp and sticky or dry and spidery.

  “Ugh,” said Perry. “I hate being closed in.”

  Cabbage whispered back, “I was just thinking the same. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Because of the Deep World?”

  “I suppose so.”

  As soon as he had said it Cabbage knew how foolish it was. People Up Top imagined going to the Deep World would be dark and narrow. Now he knew the truth he should have known better than to think that Perry would find the passageway any less frightening than he did.

  “What if they know we’re in here?” asked Cabbage. “What if they’re waiting for us?”

  He stopped.

  “I’m going back,” he said. “Come on.”

  Perry grabbed his arm.

  “What if they’re following us?” he said.

  “Don’t say that,” said Cabbage.

  He was trembling. His hand was wet with sweat. The walls of the passageway were closing in on him, the ceiling lowering.

  “All right,” said Perry. “Stop it. All right.”

  Cabbage felt ashamed. He put his back to the wall and breathed deeply.

  “Relax,” said Perry. “We’d hear them, wouldn’t we? They scratch and clatter.”

  Cabbage nodded. He let his hands fall to his sides. Small stars trickled from his fingertips and the tiny cat appeared and started licking them up. Cabbage smiled. The cat rubbed against his leg.

  “I’m all right,” said Cabbage. “Sorry. Panic. It’s gone now.”

  The last of the stars dealt with, the cat walked into the wall and disappeared.

  “Let’s press on,” said Cabbage.

  Perry shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

  “There is something scratching,” he whispered. “Listen.”

  “They’ll have gone to find Slowin,” said Cartford.

  “What are you talking about?” said Dorwin.

  “I saw them slink off,” he said. “I know they were up to something and I thought about it and decided that’s where they were going.”

  “Why didn’t you stop them?” said Flaxfold.

  He stretched lazily.

  “Not my business to stop them,” he said. “Anyway, I thought they were right. Someone has to keep an eye on him. You’re all too busy here.”

  “That’s irresponsible,” said Dorwin. “You should have told us earlier. We’ll have to go after them.”

  “Never mind that,” said Cartford. “I’m going to the forge with this girl here. We’ve got work to do, haven’t we?”

  Beatrice smiled at him. He put a huge arm around her shoulders.

  “Bring that lump with you and let’s see what you make of it now you know where you’re going.”

  “He’s right,” said Flaxfold. “One thing at a time. They’ve made a choice. I’m going to the inn. I’m packing food and supplies, getting the horses ready and then I’m going to sleep. First thing tomorrow, I’m setting off to Boolat. There’ll be horses for everyone who wants to come with me.”

  She went to Beatrice.

  “Whatever you’re making,” she said, “do it quickly. Then get some sleep. You’ve practised enough. It’s time to ac
t.”

  Beatrice let Flaxfold hug her. She felt abandoned when the woman left. In such a short time she had come to rely on her.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Cartford added more charcoal and pumped the bellows. Bee placed the lump of iron in the heart of the fire. She didn’t bother with tongs now, plunging her hand deep into the hottest part to retrieve it.

  With small callipers and prongs, flat-edged shaping tools and curved curettes she formed the soft iron into a finished shape. Again and again she heated it and worked it until it was perfect. She cooled it in the water trough to harden it and appraised her work. The others leaned over to see what she had made.

  A dragon’s head, mouth gaping, flames streaming out.

  “It’s a dragon,” said Dorwin.

  “Not just any dragon,” said Flaxfield. “It’s a Blue and Green, the best sort of dragon.”

  “Is it?” said Beatrice. “I’ve never seen a dragon. I’d love to.”

  “You shall,” said Flaxfield.

  “Is it a charm?” said Dorwin. “Or a neck pendant? What’s it for?”

  The neck of the dragon was rough and unfinished. Beatrice ran her finger over it. She put it back into the furnace.

  “You’re not going to melt it down?” said Dorwin. “It’s finished.”

  Beatrice took the white hot iron, turned it round in her hand and squashed the unfinished end on the anvil. It made a perfect circle. When she picked it up to examine it Beatrice was astonished to see that it had the shape of a bird engraved into it.

  “I didn’t do that,” she said.

  “You did,” said Flaxfield. “You just didn’t know you were doing it.”

  Beatrice put it to her lips.

  “I didn’t choose to make a dragon,” she said. “It just happened.”

  “Nothing just happens,” said Flaxfield. “You didn’t choose the dragon, the dragon chose you.”

  “It’s a seal,” said Dorwin.

  “It is,” said Flaxfield. “Of course it is. What else would it be? Cartford, have you got a length of leather? Like a bootlace?”

  Cartford had most things in the forge and it didn’t take long to find some. Flaxfield threaded it through the curled flames and tied it round Beatrice’s neck. She felt the same momentary cease in the pain as he knotted the leather and his hands brushed her neck, then it returned.

  “Just for now,” he said.

  He stretched and yawned.

  “I’m going to bed. I’ve got a long ride tomorrow.” |

  Smedge sniffed in the corner,

  damp with rat piss and green with mould. He licked it and rubbed his cheek against it. He missed the trail of slime he used to leave in his wake, and the dank crevices of the castle comforted him. His sense of smell was very keen, a legacy of the dogs and weasels he had been in his journey to becoming more or less a boy. Behind and beyond the lovely aroma of urine and decay he could smell something else, something unpleasant, yet interesting, something to eat.

  “Boy,” he whispered.

  He put his face close to the crevice in the stone and drew a deep breath.

  “Boy.”

  His mouth twisted into a smile.

  He scratched at the wall, seeking a way to dislodge a stone, to break through and look for the boy, if there was a boy.

  He lay flat on the wet ground, pushed his face along the dirt, poked his nose as far as he could into the loose stonework and drew in a deep breath.

  “Boy.”

  In a frenzy of greed he clawed at the stones. The tunnel beneath caught up the noise and conveyed it along the enclosed space.

  “Listen,” mouthed Perry. “Something’s looking for us.”

  He put his head to the wall and pointed along the tunnel.

  “That way,” he whispered.

  The boys moved as quietly as they could away from the scratching. The tunnel was leaving the boundary wall now and moving inside the castle. The chinks of light were disappearing, darkness wrapped itself around them. Perry put his hand in front of him to grope the way, fearful of bumping into the wall at a sudden turn.

  Cabbage held one end of Flaxfield’s staff, Perry held the other, making sure they didn’t get separated.

  “I could make a spell,” he whispered. “Just a little light. Enough to see by.”

  Perry whispered back over his shoulder.

  “Anything that’s in here will see it,” he said. “It will bring them to us.”

  Cabbage nodded, followed.

  “Are you sure the noise came from behind us?” he asked.

  Perry hesitated.

  “I think so.”

  The tunnel grew tighter, lower. They had to stoop to move through it. They lowered their heads, making their shoulders tense. Pace by pace they were walking into a space too small for them. There was no room to turn, no chance to run back.

  Perry slowed down. He stopped, listened. He moved forward a step, hand outstretched. Something nearby stank. He hesitated, braced himself, moved another step, and his hand touched not the wall, but something soft, irregular, damp. A face.

  Beatrice loved the smell of the horses. The journey on horseback took less time than Perry had predicted. Dorwin and Flaxfield and Cartford were experienced riders and they urged their horses on, stopping only briefly for food, water and enough rest for the animals to get a second wind.

  Beatrice rode with Cartford. She had wanted to be with Dorwin but the blacksmith allowed no argument.

  “Coaldstamp is the biggest horse, and the strongest,” he said. “You’ll do him less harm than Dorwin’s.”

  Flaxfold had not argued when Beatrice told her to stay at the inn.

  “I want to come back here,” said Beatrice. “And I want you to be safe to come back to.”

  So Flaxfold waved them off and waited.

  Flaxfield spotted the first ruined house. The door was wrenched from its hinges. The walls were charred and scratched, the garden churned and wrecked. He pointed to it and made no comment. Though the takkabakks had left, Beatrice felt their presence and it redoubled her pain. She almost cried out, disguising the noise as the effect of a jolt on Coaldstamp. Cartford tightened his grip on her and rode on.

  The single house was followed by a cluster, shortly after by a hamlet, all destroyed. Isolated houses along the way looked the worst, the saddest, the most painful.

  “We’re getting closer,” said Cartford. The last house they passed still had smoke curling from its windows.

  They reined in and gathered into a circle.

  “We’ll be there in less than an hour,” said Flaxfield. “Just before dark.”

  “And then what?” asked Dorwin. “Do we ride straight up to it and demand the boys?”

  Beatrice made sure she got her answer in before anyone else.

  “I’ll decide when we get there,” she said. “And I want to ride ahead with Cartford now. I want to be the first to see it.”

  Cartford clicked his tongue and Coaldstamp trotted on.

  “You’ve got an idea?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” said Beatrice. “It’s just that I was there when Slowin started this, so I think I’m the only one who can do anything now.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight. As long as you understand that?”

  Beatrice was seated in front of Cartford. She put her hand on Coaldstamp’s neck. The horse’s mane was lifted by wind and movement and as she touched it flames spread along its length. Coaldstamp faltered for a second. Beatrice left her hand on his neck and he settled, unhurt by the flames, untroubled.

  “Do you think you could stop me?” she asked Cartford. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

  Cartford made no reply. He flicked the reins. Coaldstamp clenched his teeth down onto his bit and twisted his head to one side. Beginning at the forelock, the flames trembled, diminished and died.

  Beatrice looked over her shoulder.

  “Did you do that? How?�
�

  Cartford rode on. At last he answered.

  “I made that bit in my forge. I chose the iron. I fanned the flames. I shaped it and cooled it.”

  It was a while before Beatrice dared to ask her question.

  “Are you a wizard, too?”

  “I’m a blacksmith,” said Cartford. “Here we are.”

  He reined Coaldstamp in and they looked down the slope to the ugly, squat shape of Boolat. Flaxfield and Dorwin drew alongside.

  “I wouldn’t have known it,” said Flaxfield. “It’s so changed.”

  “It’s Boolat, right enough,” said Cartford.

  “You would know,” said Flaxfield. Well, Beatrice, we’re here. Now what?”

  “Wait,” she said. “Let me look at it. Let me think.”

  Mattie jumped back and fell over. The tunnel had narrowed to a cramped passageway. Utter darkness ahead, darkness and danger. He had heard something in his tunnels. He needed to know if the takkabakks had discovered his secret, breached his defence. Or if the Smedge creature had found a way in and was trespassing in his spaces. He thought he might be able to kill the Smedge, if he could bear to bring himself to touch him. Either way, he had to know. So he inched forward, heart racing, breath tight. And, without warning, the hand touched his face.

  He shouted and scrambled back, clumsily, wedged in the tight space. Perry shouted out. Cabbage said, “Light,” and the staff in their joined hands glowed. In its blue light the three of them looked at each other.

  Mattie recovered, stopped shuffling back and stared at the other two. Perry steadied himself against the wall. Cabbage was the first to regain speech, now that he knew they were not facing a takkabakk.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Mattie’s voice shook.

  “I thought you were the slime boy,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Cabbage.