Doubleborn (5 page)

“Got anything for me?” she asked everyone. And she exchanged coins or goods for anything made of iron or copper.

Tamrin kept to the cart and wouldn’t go into the houses even when they pressed her to join them for a drink of cordial or a meal. So Winny didn’t go in either. She let them bring food out to the cart and she sat there with Tamrin.

A couple of times Winny spoke quietly to a householder and listened.

“He’s passed this way,” she told Tamrin. “He’s on his way home. No one knows who he is but not enough people travel this way to pass without notice.”

They rested in the hottest part of the day, under the shade of trees. The cart was heavy to push. Tamrin wished she could magic it along a bit more easily but she held back. Winny was very strong and took most of the strain.

Tamrin took a long time getting her courage up to ask Winny the question.

“Are you a tinker?” she asked.

Winny sucked at a sweet grass stem.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Sorry I asked.”

Winny patted her arm.

“I don’t mind. There’s nothing wrong with tinkers. They do a good job and they’re not the thieves and liars people say they are. Not most of them, anyway. But they mend pots and pans. I just collect scrap metal.”

“So are you?”

Winny squinted at Tamrin. The sun was mid-sky.

“You know I’m not, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So why are you asking me?”

Tamrin shook her head.

“You want me to tell you I’m not a tinker and then tell you what I am, don’t you?” she laughed.

“Don’t make fun of me,” said Tamrin.

“I’m not making fun of you. I like you. I think it’s funny that you didn’t ask. It’s a wizard question.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if most people want to know something they ask, straight out. That’s not a wizard way. Wizards always come at things sideways.”

Tamrin laughed now.

“It’s true,” she admitted. “I suppose it’s the way we’re taught.”

“Is it just that? There must be a reason.”

Tamrin thought about it and decided to tell the woman the truth, and that really isn’t the wizard way.

“It’s because things look different from the side,” she said. “If you always look at something from the front you only know a part of it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a tree or a person, a building or chair. You only see one side. Wizards are supposed to look at all the different sides. We’re supposed to see what other people don’t notice.”

Winny offered Tamrin an apple. She took it and bit hard.

“Thank you,” said Winny. “No, I’m not a tinker. But you knew that. I collect metal and take it back to my father and he melts it down and works it into new things. I don’t mend, although I could, because I want to take the metal away.”

“Does your father live far from here?”

“A little way.”

“That’s a sort of wizardy answer,” said Tamrin. “It doesn’t tell me anything.”

Winny stood up and stretched.

“I know,” she said. “The sun’s getting lower. We can get on our way.”

She took hold of the handles of the cart and pushed. Tamrin walked alongside. She looked at the pile of old metal and broken stuff.

“Do people ever give you anything valuable by mistake?” she asked.

Things had changed at Boolat since Smedge had last been there. Ash was stronger. Bakkmann was more sullen. She had always looked at Ash with a mixture of fear and love. Now, Smedge sensed less fear, less love, and a new element of anger. He wondered what Bakkmann would do if she ever managed to break through the sealing spell completely and leave Ash inside. Would she come back? Or would that be the last that Boolat would see of her?

Smedge let these thoughts drift like dandelion clocks through his head, not trying to catch them and examine them. Leaving them to blow away or take root and grow. The pain of his punishment had almost gone now. The shock of it still remained. The assault still hurt. His flesh had returned to what he had made it. It always did.

He stepped over a filthy, piss-stained corner of the courtyard and slipped into a tight slot that became a passageway deep in the outer wall. He couldn’t see where he was going and felt his way along with his hands on the smooth stone. It wasn’t long before he reached an obstruction. He couldn’t go any further. He put his face to the wall and listened.

Silence.

Sometimes he could hear scratching, like rats. Once or twice, perhaps more, he fancied he heard voices, or just one voice, or the wind through the tunnels like a voice.

More than that, he could smell something in the gap in the walls. Whenever he returned to Boolat his first thought was always to come here and listen. Today there was nothing. Tomorrow was another day.

He emerged from the darkness and looked at the squat creatures entering through the gate.

They were new, too. Bigger than before. Stronger than before. Upright. They almost looked like armoured men. And they could talk now. That was a change. And red. That was new.

But they were still beetles and Smedge hated them.

He had eaten beetles. Back then. Not these beetles. Not Ash’s beetles. He remembered eating them and feeling the sick, empty sensation of beetle-life.

Ash’s beetles changed all the time. They developed. Smedge didn’t know if she was doing it, forming them into an army, or whether it was just the nature of the creatures to change and become ever more skilful, ever more dangerous. Or was it something greater even than Ash that was doing it?

Smedge left them to it and made his way to the dungeon. He needed some fun after his journey.

“Tell me about your father,” said Tamrin.

Winny was sweating and her wet hands slipped on the handles of the cart. It was a long hill.

“You’ll find out for yourself,” she said.

“What?”

“When you meet him.”

Tamrin stopped dead.

“Why am I going to meet him?”

Winny carried on pushing the cart so Tamrin had to trot to catch up. She took one of the handles and helped. It was heavy, hard work. She made just a small spell to make the wheels go round on their own.

“Stop that,” said Winny. “I’ll push on my own if I have to.”

Tamrin scowled and took the spell back.

“Is that what they taught you at the college?” said Winny. “To use magic to make your life easier?”

It was what the teachers taught the pupils, but not what Vengeabil told her. He was very strict that she shouldn’t do that. She felt ashamed.

“No.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

“I’ve never pushed a heavy cart before.”

“Well, that’s understandable. But I have. And I’d rather do it properly than have cheap magic.”

“Most people want wizards to work magic for them to make things easier,” said Tamrin.

“I’m not most people,” said Winny. “And I’ve met wizards who taught me it was wrong.”

Tamrin thought about this until they reached the top of the hill. By this time she was hot and sweating, too. They paused, enjoying the breeze.

“Come on,” said Winny. “Careful now. This is the hard part.”

Tamrin laughed.

“You’re joking. We just pushed it up.”

“Wait and see.”

She was right. The cart moved with a strength of its own. They had to fight to stop it rolling away from them. Tamrin’s back hurt and her legs were aching when they reached level ground.

“Going downhill’s harder work than going up,” said Winny. “Think about it.”

Tamrin was still thinking about it and trying to work it out when they saw a house on its own. Not a cottage this time, but a proper house, with windows and many rooms, a garden in front and an orchard to one side with a donkey in it.

Smedge was playing with the prisoners when Ash glided into the cell. She watched him silently and it made him feel uncomfortable.

“Why is this one still alive?” he asked her.

“Khazib?” she said. “He could still be useful. Don’t break him.”

Khazib listened to them talking about him. He made no sign that he understood or cared what they said. His face, brown as bark, gave no sign of anything.

Smedge laughed.

“He’s quite broken already.”

Ash poked the man with her toe. He was chained to the wall, his neck fastened with an iron hoop low to the ground so that he couldn’t stand.

“Damaged,” she said. “But still not destroyed. Yet.”

Khazib turned his face away.

Smedge read the disgust in the man’s features and he spat at him.

“I’d have killed him,” said Smedge. “He’s got nothing left to tell us.”

Ash steered Smedge away. They left the door open. Khazib could not escape and there were plenty of guards in the corridors. The new, armoured figures as well as the old takkabakks.

“What are these?” asked Smedge. “The new ones?”

Ash smiled.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” she said. “They’re the best yet.” She stopped and touched one. It turned and looked at her from a blank face. “My beetles change and grow all the time. This is a kravvin. In the dark they look like men, but they’re all beetle. No fear. No mercy. No desire except to kill and to eat.” She stroked its smooth face. “And to serve me,” she added.

They climbed the stair to her turret. She looked from the window over the fields and woods, across to the distant hills.

“Why do you keep Khazib?” asked Smedge. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Ash continued to look out, speaking to him without meeting his eye.

“He was Flaxfield’s apprentice,” she said. “Years and years ago. There’s still something of Flaxfield in him. Something that we may need one day. Something that we may use. Flaxfield’s dead. So we need to keep anything we can of his that might help us.”

Smedge remembered Flaxfield. The old wizard who had locked Ash and Bakkmann in this castle with magic more years ago than he could recall. Long before Khazib had been born. The takkabakks could come and go. And so could travellers. At least, travellers could come; Ash seldom let them leave.

“Might Khazib be the way to get out?” he asked.

Ash hissed and spun round.

“Do you know how long it is?” she said. “How long it is since I left this place?”

Her anger swept across the room and left a taste in his mouth, like slurry.

“Please don’t hurt me,” said Smedge again.

Ash crouched with fury, hunched herself small, and for the first time Smedge saw that she was closer to the beetles than he had ever imagined. The tall, slender grey figure was transformed. She stood, and the illusion broke. She put her hand to her mouth and snapped off three teeth, tearing her gums. The taste of blood and the pain restored her calm.

“There’s more than one way out of here,” she said. She gave Smedge a broad smile, revealing the gap in her teeth, the blood running down her chin. A new corpse, hacked to death in battle. Smedge felt hungry. “There are more doors than the broad gate.”

Ash came close to him, gripped his jerkin and put her face right in his. As she spoke, blood spattered from her mouth into his eyes.

“That boy, Sam. And that girl Tamrin. I want them both. You understand? Both of them. He’s Flaxfield’s, too.”

Smedge leaned forward and licked the blood from her chin. Her teeth were already growing back, her gums closing over the wound.

“Go back to the college,” she said. “Find out where she’s gone. Let me know everything.”

“Yes.”

“And Frastfil?” she added. “What of him?”

“That fool,” said Smedge. “He’s ours.”

“Good. Use him.”

Smedge hesitated.

“He’s too stupid,” he said. “Duddle is cleverer and he’ll enjoy working with us. Can I use him more?”

“If you like,” she said.

“And when I’ve finished with Frastfil,” said Smedge, “when he’s not any more use, may I eat him?”

Ash patted his cheek.

“Of course you may.”

“What’s this?” asked Tamrin, pulling a jagged, irregular piece of metal from the cart.

The road was level now, though bumpy. Pushing a handcart looked like fun until you tried to do it. Tamrin felt a little guilty that she had not taken as much of her fair share as she could have done.

Winny stopped pushing and looked at Tamrin’s find. It was bigger than the woman’s palm, with two straight sides and two broken ones. It glinted in the sun and threw their reflections back at them.

“It’s nothing. Put it back.”

Tamrin pulled a face.

“Can’t I have it?”

Winny grabbed the handles and pushed the cart faster than before. The big house was close now.

“Just throw it back,” she repeated.

“I’ll pay you for it,” Tamrin offered.

“It’s not for sale.”

Tamrin tossed it back, making sure to see where it landed.

“Old iron,” Winny shouted out. “Old iron.”

It was a big household and they never saw the master or the mistress. The cook gave them some food and a buckled and scarred roasting dish.

“Anything over there?” asked Winny. She pointed to a large barn.

“You can have a look,” said the cook, “but Barbaron had better take you.”

Barbaron, a sort of groom-handyman, wasn’t pleased to leave his comfortable seat in the kitchen. He led them across to the barn in surly silence and as soon as they were through the door he left them and sat in the sun, throwing small pebbles at the geese to make them honk.

“If you see anything metal and old, let me know,” said Winny.

“What are we looking for?” asked Tamrin.

“The usual stuff. Anything. As long as it’s metal. As long as it’s old. Nothing new.”

Tamrin wandered off and didn’t look very hard. She liked the barn and decided to measure it. The walls were high, rough stone, and crumbly. She paced the width. Thirty-seven. Then the length. Seventy-four. The roof was pointed against wet weather, with oak beams like laced fingers.

“Found anything?” called Winny.

Tamrin couldn’t see her. There were piles of old sacks, some hay bales, a farm cart with only one wheel, a harrow and a plough. One corner had a stack of wooden furniture that had been tipped out to make way for better stuff. Tamrin found an elbow chair, set it up on its legs and sat on it, looking up and round.