Back To The Divide (5 page)

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galloped down the path until it had enough speed to take off. Then it soared into the air and headed off to the east.

Ironclaw knew that the japegrins wouldn't remain frozen for all that long, but at least they wouldn't have any transportation now. He buried the wands, then flew over to Granitelegs to tell him his intentions. Ironclaw had known Granitelegs for nearly two centuries; they squabbled about everything, and mathematics in particular, but they were really rather fond of each other, although neither of them would ever have admitted it.

"You're going to do
what?"
squawked Granitelegs.

"Rescue Thornbeak and Betony," repeated Ironclaw, strapping a crock of gold to his leg in case he needed to bribe someone.

"I'm sure Thornbeak's perfectly capable of rescuing herself," said Granitelegs. "She's terrifying. Can I use your dirt-board while you're away?"

"Feel free," said Ironclaw.

Granitelegs gulped. He'd only asked as a joke. Ironclaw never let
anyone
use his dirt-board. When Ironclaw was just a little speck in the sky, Granitelegs flew over to it. The dirt-board was as hard as stone and completely unusable. Typical, thought Granitelegs. Then he wondered whether he could invent a spell to return it to its former state. Ironclaw would be seriously impressed. He fluffed out his feathers and toyed with a few figures.

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***

"Anyone home?" called the flame-bird, peering into the cave.

"No!" shouted Turpsik, wondering how to rhyme
scum
without being offensive.

"I need to tell someone," said the flame-bird.

Turpsik put down her pen. This sounded intriguing. "Tell someone what?" she said.

The bird flew into Turpsik's cave and settled on a pile of books. He folded his azure wings and raised and lowered his scarlet crest a couple of times.

Turpsik glared at him with her one eye, hoping he was house-trained, and said, "This'd better be good. Still got masses of work to do. Can't devote all evening to visitors, even if they are reincarnated ones."

The flame-bird ruffled his feathers in a self-important way and said, "You know the king and queen have disappeared?"

"Everyone
knows that."

"No, listen," said the flame-bird. "I met a carrionwing in the forest, and she said the oddest thing. That the king and queen were still alive, but that they could only be rescued by a mythical being. I asked her where they were, but she said she couldn't tell me, she'd signed a confidentiality agreement. Something to do with her job."

"What is her job?"

"Refuse disposal."

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Turpsik was good at finding unexpected links between things, but she couldn't find one here. "The king and queen are supposed to be on vacation," she said.

"The carrionwing said they were resting."

Turpsik glanced at the notebook in front of her and the unfinished couplets. Then she sighed heavily and said, "You'd better tell me everything the carrionwing told you."

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***

3

***

When the first drops of rain fell, Ironclaw decided to stop for the night. He wasn't quite sure how far away Andria was, and he hated flying in the dark. There was a cliff below him that looked as though it might have a cave or two in it, so he spiraled down and landed on a little patch of grass.

There
was
a cave and a very nice one, too, by the look of it -- but it was already occupied. Someone inside was singing. Ironclaw peered into the gloom. He could just make out a two-legged figure, dancing as it sang. He listened. The words weren't wonderfully inspiring.

Ice in the rigging, ice on the deck,

Frost on the tiller, snow down your neck.

Mallemaroking, mallemaroking,

Sing as you keep on shov'ling and stoking..

Ironclaw coughed politely.

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The voice stopped singing, and a buxom figure in a pink dress emerged from the cave.

Well,
polish my talons with a sinistrom stone,
thought Ironclaw, stepping back a pace, it's a one-eye. What's
she
doing here?

Well,
grease my hooves with cuddyak butter,
thought Turpsik. A brazzle. What's
he
doing here?

"I'm looking for shelter for the night," said Ironclaw.

"This isn't a bed-and-breakfast cavern," said Turpsik, who felt that four groups of visitors in one day were four groups too many. "Try somewhere else."

Ironclaw squinted into the cave mouth, trying to ascertain exactly how big the accommodation was. Then he noticed the plaque with the name
Turpsik
burned onto it. "Turpsik," he said thoughtfully. "Didn't you win the Creative Cursing Competition last year?"

The one-eye patted her horrible hair into place. "Indeed I did. And you are?"

"Ironclaw."

"Didn't you solve the dimension spell?" Ironclaw had a quick preen. "That's right."

"Better come in," said Turpsik.

"I liked the song," lied Ironclaw as he followed her into the cave. "I've never heard anyone rhyme
mallemaroking
before."

"Know what it means?"

"Carousing on icebound ships, obviously," said Ironclaw. "Doesn't everyone know that?"

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"Surprisingly, no," said Turpsik. "Like some tripe? Run out of fish, sadly."

"Don't mind if I do," said Ironclaw.

"You're heading for Andria, presumably," said Turpsik, dishing him up a plateful of mush from the cauldron and pouring him a bucket of fertle-juice. "Not the same Andria it used to be, not without a king and queen. Abdicated and gone on vacation, apparently." She went on to tell him the slightly different account the carrionwing had given the flame-bird.

"So where are they?" asked Ironclaw.

Turpsik shrugged. "Fleabane will know, you can be sure of that. Dreadful business all around. Using the library as a prison, as well. Already got one brazzle captive there -- Thornbeak. Know her?"

"Yes," said Ironclaw, feeling rather proud about the next thing he was going to say and lashing his tail to emphasize it. "I'm planning to rescue her."

"Know her well, then?"

"Not really," said Ironclaw. "She's the mother of my son."

"Fine historian," said Turpsik. "Knows all there is to know about Flintfeather.
He
wrote poetry, you know."

"I thought he was a mathematician," said Ironclaw. "Yes, well, that was a sideline."

"A
sideline?"
squawked Ironclaw, incensed. "It was the poetry that was the sideline."

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"Poetry is
never
a sideline," said Turpsik, her one eye flashing. "It deals with the fundamental issues of life."

"As does mathematics," said Ironclaw.

"Describe a triple-head in numbers, then."

Ironclaw glared at her. "I could give you its weight and its height and its peck-reach ..."

"But not its thought processes."

"They're not important."

Turpsik laughed. "Typical cock, aren't you, Ironclaw? Never hear a hen say something like that. But if you want to get past the triple-head that's guarding the library, you'll need to understand how its minds work."

I'd rather just peck its eyes out, thought Ironclaw. No, I wouldn't.

"Blood-red cheeks and a blood-red soul,"
recited Turpsik.
"Each beak can swallow a japegrin whole...."

Ironclaw gulped. "Is it partial to bribes?"

"Shouldn't think so. Not unless you've got some worrit kidneys or a pickled vamprey. Bit of a gourmet, in its own way."

Ironclaw remembered the cliff outside. There would be birds nesting there. "Poultry any good?" he asked.

Turpsik looked dubious and helped herself to some more tripe.

"Eggs, maybe?"

Turpsik laughed. "Only if it's a really unusual one. Got a few stonecrake eggs in the larder, but they're common as muck."

52

Ironclaw hated asking for advice, but he had no choice. "What approach do you suggest, then?" he mumbled.

"Well," said Turpsik, savoring the moment, "I'd concentrate on the three heads if I were you. They always agree on things -- or they always have up until now."

"Logic problems!" crowed Ironclaw. "Get it to argue with itself!"

"One of those rare occasions when a poet and a mathematician can actually collaborate," said Turpsik.

"Pass the tripe," said Ironclaw, "and let's get started on a brainteaser."

Betony ran her finger along the dust-covered bookshelf. It came away filthy, so she wiped it on her tunic.

Thornbeak made a quiet clucking sound of disapproval, ruffled her immaculate golden feathers, and flattened them again.

"One more smudge isn't going to make any difference," said Betony, wiping the finger again. "Or two, even."

"Keep your voice down," hissed Thornbeak. "You
know
this section of the library's out-of-bounds now. Getting caught in here is not a good idea."

Betony clapped a hand to her mouth, rather too theatrically for the brazzle's liking.

"You're not taking this seriously enough," reproved Thornbeak. "We could be executed on the spot."

Betony decided she'd better take it seriously. She began to

53

scan the shelves as rapidly as she could for a book about lifting incendiary spells. She'd been working in the library with Thornbeak for the past year, doing historical research, and she loved the place. Now she was a prisoner in it. The thought of it being burned to the ground by Fleabane's spell was dreadful -- they
had
to find the countercharm.

The library was the oldest building in Andria, although no one quite seemed to know exactly
how
old. Huge and rambling, it was made entirely of wood. Despite being only one story high, it had so many passages and rooms that, to Betony's annoyance, she still got lost from time to time -- so hopefully the guards patrolling it could get just as lost, too.

Suddenly, a japegrin appeared from nowhere and said, "What are you two doing in here? Flea-bane ordered you to look for the Divide spell, not play with fire."

A trickle of sweat made a sudden and uncharacteristic dash down Betony's spine. She hadn't heard him approaching, which was odd; kicking boots had metal studs on the soles, and they usually made a lot of noise on the wooden floor.

[Image: Betony, Thornbeak and the japegrin.]

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They could hurt, as well. She glanced down. He was barefoot.

He made a wry face. "My pair didn't fit very well. I've got blisters. Look, I've had instructions to keep everyone out of this section. Even you."

Thornbeak raised a feathery eyebrow and swished her tawny-tasseled tail.

"Oh, I know who you are," said the japegrin. "You're nearly as famous as Ironclaw, the brazzle who solved the dimension spell. Do you know him well?"

"Not really," said Thornbeak. "He's the father of my son."

"I'm Betony," said Betony, feeling that he should have heard of her as well, "and I was trained as a herbalist. Let's have a look at those blisters."

The japegrin seemed undecided for a moment -- but Betony's voice had been bossy enough to tip the balance, so he sat down on the floor and let her examine his feet.

"I can sort this out," said Betony confidently, pushing her blond hair back behind her pointed ears so that she could see better. She waved her hand and recited the standard healing incantation, and they all sat and watched as the blisters popped and then shrank to nothing.

The japegrin sighed deeply. "Thanks," he said. "Listen, I don't like what Fleabane's doing any more than you do; he's ten times worse than Snakeweed. I'd never been to the library before. It's an amazing place, isn't it? Before all this

55

invasion stuff started, I used to grow flumpett flowers. I thought I had every variety there was, but I've found pictures of ones I'd never even heard of." He smiled. "I'm not stupid. I know what you're really after in here. And I hope you do find it. Burning this place to the ground would be a crime." And with that, he left.

Betony and Thornbeak glanced at each other. Betony grinned, and they resumed their search.

A little while later Thornbeak said, "How extraordinary." She took a book from one of the shelves and placed it on a leather-covered desk. A cloud of dust billowed off the binding and a musty smell issued from the pages, as though they hadn't been turned for a very long time. "This volume contains the original plans of the building. I thought they'd been lost." She flicked through the book with her talon until she came to something that interested her. Then she said, "Thirteen. Logical."

"Thirteen what?"

"Thirteen secret exits behind the bookcases."