Jack Shian and the King's Chalice (17 page)

Jack’s head was buzzing as he made his way upstairs for bed. He didn’t feel like talking about it, not even to Petros. Rana and Lizzie were playing up in the next bedroom, until Katie shouted at them to be quiet. Jack was grateful for the comparative quiet as he lay there, trying to make sense of his thoughts. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t work out what he was meant to be feeling.

Jack had a restless night. A series of bizarre dreams prevented any restful sleep, and when morning came he felt bleary. His work at Gilmore’s did not go well, his basic mistakes exasperating his tutor. By the time Jack got home that afternoon he felt drained, and even passed up the chance to go out to the High Street, slumping instead in the front room, alone. His mood didn’t improve at suppertime when Grandpa announced that Daid had not provided any useful information.

“I couldn’t tell you over supper,” explained Grandpa to the boys afterwards. “The girls are a little young to be hearing this, but as you are both already taught by Daid, I feel it’s fair to tell you.”

Jack and Petros exchanged puzzled glances.

“You may have noticed that Daid is not always … alert.” stated Grandpa. Jack smiled quietly. “He has an unparalleled experience of living with humans, but that experience has left him with an occasional disadvantage. He has a fondness, shall we say, for some of the human failings.”

“You mean he likes their beer?” laughed Petros. “Everyone in my class knows that.”

“Your classmates may have noticed something,” continued Grandpa evenly, “but you ought to know that Shian can’t drink human beer.”

Jack saw his cousin blush.

“That said, Daid has developed something of a taste for what the humans call the water of life – a spirit drink. The upshot is that sometimes – like now – he’s a little under the weather. We won’t get much out of him until tomorrow. However, we still have time. Tamlina said the Cup is revealed on Hallows’ Eve, that’s not for another month.”

Grandpa’s optimism, however, was unfounded, for even the next day Daid was unable to provide any useful information. By the time Thursday’s lesson came around, Daid was almost beside himself with worry. He spent the entire lesson jumping up and rushing over to the bookshelf, grabbing a volume, only to let the book fall after he had flicked through its contents. The afternoon passed by in a confused haze.

Depressingly, that set the tone for the next three weeks. Daid remained incapable of remembering where the answer lay, although he knew that it was somewhere in one of his books. But there were so many, and although he’d read parts of all of them, and most of some of them, his erratic approach and haphazard filing system meant that he was unable to remember the book he wanted, never mind find it.

As Daid fretted, so Grandpa became ever more anxious, knowing that Hallows’ Eve was a chance not to be missed. He was convinced that some of the manuscripts had been mislaid, but try as he might, he couldn’t find them. Jack and Petros, aware of these concerns, felt powerless. But if Grandpa and Daid between them could not solve the problem, what chance had they?

Monday arrived. Just a day to go to Hallows’ Eve. Grandpa Sandy had become almost frantic. The lost manuscripts remained lost, and Daid was no nearer to finding the book he sought. The tutor had lapsed into a state of melancholy, informing the apprentices that he was unfit to live under the castle with members of the Congress.

By the time of Murkle’s lesson that afternoon, a dark cloud of despondency hung over the Shian square. The rock wall crystals showered their light, but somehow it was duller than usual. Only Fenrig appeared cheery, as he recounted his planned exploits at Hallows’ Eve.

“I’m going to play some really good tricks on stupid humans,” he announced as they made their way to Murkle’s door. “They won’t know what’s hit them by the time I’m finished.”

Although most of the group shared a distaste for Fenrig much of the time, there was some approval for this.

“The humans are driving the animals away,” said Diana heatedly. “Even the charmed places are getting smaller.”

Murkle opened the door and ushered the group in. Once they were all inside, he sat in his usual chair and began to recite. Like the others, Jack had learnt by now how to cope with the tedium. He closed his eyes and pictured the woods of Keldy, then the streams in Rangie. Within minutes, Jack was miles away. Murkle occasionally gazed around the room, but he too seemed to be far away in his own world, reciting stories that should have been interesting, but which none of his class wanted to hear.

Purdy, sitting next to Jack, used his body to shield herself from Murkle. As the tutor droned on, she sat and doodled on a scrap of paper on the small area of seat between herself and Jack. Sometimes purposeful, sometimes absent-minded, she sketched away.

Murkle coughed, and Jack sat up with a start, but the teacher quickly resumed his story.

“On certain exceptional nights, the ghosts of long ago can be conjured up with the sounding of a special ram’s horn. The horn may revive all those connected with a particular object or place, and unlike any other night the ghosts can act as if they were alive, but this can only be …”

Jack lapsed again into half-sleep as Murkle’s voice droned on. Realising that there was still some way to go, Jack looked sleepily around. The other apprentices were each silently following their chosen paths of boredom relief. His mind still fuzzy from his daydream, Jack glanced down at Purdy’s doodles.

She’s quite artistic; they’re nice patterns. Swirls and curves, knots and spirals; she’s linked them up nicely.

Spirals. At the back of Jack’s bored mind, a candle ignited. He looked at the paper again. There was no doubt: it was a Triple-S spiral.

He sat bolt upright, suddenly awake.

“Where did you see that?!”

There was a stir of interest around the room. Murkle looked over angrily towards Jack.

“Harrumph … What’s the meaning of this?” he barked.

“I–I’m sorry,” stammered Jack. “I saw something.”

“And what is so important that you have to shout in my lesson?”

Jack was caught. He didn’t want to draw attention to Purdy’s drawing, especially with Fenrig looking on, but there was always a risk the others would see it anyway.

“Could I see you and Purdy outside for a minute, please, Murkle?” he asked, surreptitiously slipping his hand over Purdy’s drawing.

Murkle glared at Jack for a moment, and Jack wondered briefly whether the teacher was going to beat him. Then Murkle stood up abruptly and led Jack and Purdy out of the room, closing the door. He had not reverted the youngsters to their normal size, and towered over them.

“Well?” he demanded severely.

Jack realised he had nothing to lose now.

“Please, Murkle, it’s the pattern on Tamlina’s ring you saw at the Congress meeting, the one you said wasn’t Shian. Purdy’s just drawn it.”

“Thanks a bunch,” muttered Purdy out of the corner of her mouth, but to her surprise Murkle did not scold her.

“Let me see,” Murkle said brusquely.

“I saw it in Daid’s book.” Purdy handed over the drawing. “I liked some of the designs in it.”

“We must show this to Atholmor,” said Murkle, looking down at Jack. “I’ll keep the others occupied.”

He stepped out of the kitchen, but was back within half a minute.

“They won’t get out. I’ve hexed the doorway and I’ve sent a grig to fetch Atholmor. Come on. Young Purdy, you’d better get that book. They’ll want to examine it.”

Purdy quickly retrieved the book, and Murkle carried it reverently into Jack’s house, presenting it to Grandpa Sandy. Atholmor and Rowan had been summoned from a meeting in Keldy, arriving along the low road. When asked, Purdy quickly found the place from where she had copied the symbols.

“The chapter’s all about the woman’s visit to Dunvik,” began Grandpa. “A local legend says the Cup was taken there after many years of wandering. There’s quite a bit about who owned the Cup beforehand.” Grandpa skimmed through the pages. “Ah, here we are.
The Cup was eventually hidden in a cave, whose exact location is a mystery. Only when the moon rises at Hallows’ Eve does it reveal itself. It can be found by anyone, but only kept by those whose heart is true
.”

“But which cave, Grandpa? And what did Tamlina mean about the thief’s brief reward? Or the fire and sword?”

Grandpa Sandy continued to scan the pages silently. Eventually his eyes came to rest on a particular passage, and he read it carefully. Then, turning to Purdy, he said softly, “Young Purdy, I would ask you to leave us for now. To know certain things might place you in some danger. For your own safety’s sake, please step outside for a minute. You too, Jack.”

Purdy pouted, but did not dare to challenge a senior Congress member. Reluctantly, she and Jack left.

“Do we have our answer?” asked Rowan expectantly.

Grandpa Sandy looked up and smiled at his old friend.

“We do. The mystery of the Cup’s whereabouts is solved.”

The rest of that afternoon was pandemonium. Hallows’ Eve being the next day, there was little time to arrange matters. Most of the Congress seemed to be in the front room, and all were discussing the book’s revelations. Daid had turned up, somewhat bleary-eyed, and was both shocked and excited to discover that his book was not lost after all.

“There’s no secret about this,” commented Petros as he and Jack stood outside. “Everyone in the square knows something’s going on.”

Out of the corner of his eye he spied Fenrig beside Mawkit’s house. “If Fenrig catches on, that’ll mean trouble. Let’s get him.”

He and Jack ran down to the foot of the square. When they got there, Fenrig was standing calmly by the back door, a short green coat slung over his shoulder. He looked at them scornfully, then casually put the coat on, and vanished.

“How’d he do that?” gasped Petros.

Jack’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. This would explain why Fenrig had been so hard to track, but he knew also that Gilmore had not yet taught them how to make invisible clothes. Someone must be making them for him. This spelt trouble.

“We’ve got to tell Grandpa,” said Jack. “Fenrig could be following us and listening in anytime.”

“You’re right,” said Petros, and they started back to the house.

As they neared it, they could see the Congress members leaving, evidently in a hurry.

“Grandpa! We’ve something to tell you,” shouted Petros.

“It’ll have to wait,” said his grandfather, hastening to catch up with Atholmor.

“But it’s important, Grandpa! It’s about Fenrig.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t time now,” said Grandpa, hurrying off. “There’s not a moment to lose. We must get to the Cup before the Brashat.”

Jack and Petros looked on bewildered as the Congress all made haste up to the top end of the square. Rowan turned and gave a friendly wave before rushing on to catch up with the others.

“Mum, why won’t they listen?” asked Petros plaintively. “We’ve just seen Fenrig, and he can disappear. That’s dangerous.”

“You’d better do what your grandfather says,” answered Katie, wiping her eyes. “We’ll just have to wait here until they get back.” After a few moments, she went inside the house and silently climbed the stairs.

“D’you want to know where they’ve gone, then?” asked Rana, who had appeared at Petros’s side. Jack turned to her.

“I suppose you know, then? How’d you manage that?”

“It doesn’t matter how we found out,” grinned Rana. “The point is, we know.”

“All right, so tell us.”

“What’s it worth?” said Lizzie.

“Yes, what are you going to give us?” asked Purdy. “It was me who led them to the answer. We deserve something from all this.”

“If you don’t, I’ll …” Petros’s voice trailed off. “All right, I’ll lend you my Aximon charm. Cormac made it. It’s for getting you away from an attacker.”

He fished inside his pocket and pulled out the small wooden figure.

“Cool,” said Rana, holding out her hand.

“But you’re only borrowing it,” said Petros as he handed it over. “Dad’ll be furious if he thinks I’ve given it to you. If you’re in danger you say
‘Salvus!’
three times, but you really have to believe in it, otherwise it’s useless. Dad was firm about that. Now, what have you found out?”

“Not here,” said Rana. “The esplanade. Not so many prying eyes there.”

Without another word she led the way up to the esplanade gate. It was drizzling when they emerged, and Jack shivered as the fine rain settled on him.

“Dunvik’s this place up on the west coast,” began Rana. “There’s a cave near a sea loch, with a big forest behind it. It’s a long story, but the King’s Cup was hidden there. It only shows itself on Hallows’ Eve, when the moon rises. And get this: the Cup was made by monks.”

“And d’you think the whole Congress is away up there now?” asked Jack. “Hallows’ Eve is tomorrow.”

“I don’t fancy going all the way up there,” grimaced Petros. “It’s too far.”

“The Congress wants to get there as soon as they can. They’re scared the Brashat will beat them to it,” said Rana. “Atholmor says it’ll be a disaster if that happens.”