Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1) (12 page)

“Well, there’s the forest,” she said.

The village itself was almost overwhelming. There was magic
everywhere
, doing everything imaginable; and almost every resident she saw possessed at least rudimentary magic of his or her own. The constant flicker of magic was there at the corners of her eyes no matter which way she turned, and Poly wasn’t sure if it was the surfeit of magic that made it all seem a little skewed, or if magic was just a little different here in Luck’s village. The constant pressure of magic tired her quickly, but Onepiece was delighted to explore each new sight and smell, and he pranced ahead of the girls, uttering his short, gruff little bark whenever something moved more quickly than he expected.

And Margaret, after all, wasn’t a bad guide. Despite her evident lack of sense when it came to Luck, she wasn’t actually
stupid
, and Poly even found herself smiling involuntarily at some of Margaret’s more acerbic comments on her unfortunate neighbours. She wondered if the girl knew how much alike she and her mother were.

By the time they arrived back at Luck’s house, she and Margaret, if not exactly fast friends, were beginning to tolerate one another. This happy state of affairs was considerably helped by the fact that Luck, who was waist-deep in a cupboard that was only inches deep on the outside, didn’t seem to notice Poly’s arrival any more than Margaret’s.

In fact, it was only after Margaret had gone unwillingly to prepare dinner that Luck became aware of Poly’s existence. She had perched herself tiredly on what seemed to be a rounded metal bulwark in one corner of the room, amused to watch Luck’s peregrinations to and fro as he pieced together a complicated and sprawling spell; but after turning in a confused circle three times in a row, eyes glazed, he caught sight of her. At once his eyes sharpened.

“Poly! Where did you go? Why weren’t you here? The balance has been off all afternoon!”

“I’ve been exploring,” Poly told him, unwilling to bestir herself to ask what balance he was talking about. “Margaret was showing me the village.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have been,” said Luck, irritably. “I
needed
you.”

Poly wondered if she should feel flattered, and decided against it. Most likely Luck wanted her to do something unpleasant.

“If it’s another bomb, I don’t want anything to do with it,” she said, yawning. She crossed her legs and arranged the brilliant yellow material of her skirt over her shins and bare feet. She’d forgotten to ask Luck to magic her another pair of shoes before they got to the village, and she had been uneasily aware of more than one pair of eyes watching her bare ankles as she and Margaret walked.

Luck gazed at her with untroubled green eyes. “Why would it be a bomb?”

Poly, feeling an absurd urge to laugh, decided that she was far too tired, and said: “Oh, I don’t know. The magic here is very strange and I think I want to go to bed.”

Luck’s face was suddenly decidedly closer, causing Poly to jerk back against the wall to avoid him. She opened her mouth to protest, and found that she was yawning again instead.

“Huh,” said Luck, leaking golden magic. He sounded smug, and, Poly thought, slightly pleased. “Your balance is off, too. The curse is being sneaky again.”

“Personal space, Luck,” Poly said wearily, fighting back another yawn in order to add: “What do you mean about the curse?”

-threads are coming loose-
said Onepiece, trotting into the room from the direction of the kitchen. He brought with him the mouth-watering scent of baked potatoes and melting cheese.

“Fine print,” said Luck, at the same time. “Governmental spellpapers are tricky, too. To wake you up I had to smudge things a bit with some of the sub-clauses in the spellpaper, and it’s been thinking about things all the while, trying to find out how I tricked it.”

Poly found that she understood, and was pleased with herself. “And now it has?”

“I need the spellpaper, but it’s hiding from me,” complained Luck. He ran his fingers vigorously through his hair, sending dust and cobwebs dancing in the late rays of sunshine that lit the room. “It was in my library when I left, and now it’s moved. One of the gremlins must have got it.”

Poly put her chin in her palm and observed Luck with sleepy interest. “Do the gremlins often move things?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes they just eat them. Or poop on them. Wake up, Poly; it’s rude to fall asleep when I’m talking to you.”

-and there’s dinner-
said Onepiece anxiously. He was turning small circles below her as if getting up the nerve to attempt the high scramble onto the metal bulwark.

Poly reached down and lifted him into her lap. “It’s all right, darling; I’m only a little sleepy. Luck will fix it. Is dinner ready?”

“We’re too busy for dinner,” said Luck, ignoring Onepiece’s prompt and enthusiastic affirmative. “The dog can eat if it wants to eat.”

“
I
want to eat,” protested Poly, awake enough to feel indignant at Luck’s use of the plural pronoun.

“Rubbish. There’s too much to do and you’ve been gone all day. Hold out your hand, Poly.”

Poly instinctively drew back, curling the fingers of both hands into her palms. “Why?”

“I want to try something,” said Luck.

Poly thought, in sleepy fatalism,
He always sounds so
reasonable
. Then you’re up to your elbows in a bomb, or walking through a mountain.

“You’re fading, Poly!” Luck’s voice was sharp, but distant, and when Poly tried to focus on his face, it blurred. “If you don’t wake up I’ll have to kiss you again, and you won’t like that.”

There was a far-off whine, then a tiny, forceful personality was battering at the cobwebs of sleep that were winding, thick and fast, around Poly’s mind. She tried to reach out to it, vaguely aware that it needed reassuring, but couldn’t form her thoughts enough to break through. Poly had a moment–or perhaps it was a day or maybe even a week–to feel fuzzily panicked, before a sharp pain in one finger shocked her back into herself.

Luck’s magic was huge and golden and
everywhere
, and a frightened little voice was saying
-sorrysorrysorry! pollee! pollee?-
but all she could see was the bead of blood as it slipped silkily down her finger and dropped, dropped, dropped...

Poly fell. It was like falling in a dream, except that instead of waking up, she hit reality. Or in this case, she thought, looking around swiftly and more than slightly shaken: the past. She was in her bedroom, her hands automatically straightening her grey, everyday ensemble, and if the messy locks of her shorn hair were any indicator, she had been lying on her bed and napping until recently. Poly felt a cold chill of intuition. It was the Midsummer Night’s Eve Festival tonight: it must be, because her younger body was not
very
much younger, and her hair had been slashed off the morning before the festival. Moreover, this particular grey dress had been new for the occasion.

But Poly didn’t remember waking up until Luck kissed her. This was a memory that had been buried away very, very carefully. The question was, had it been buried by the curse as a kind of magical side-effect, or on purpose by the person who cursed her? She didn’t waste time trying to find her way back to Luck and Onepiece because she could feel Luck’s magic somewhere in the back of her mind, warm and reassuring. Even further back was the idea that this was
important
.

Poly was faintly aware of her younger mind gently ticking over, thoughts flitting past as her fingers ran perfunctorily through her hair. Curious, she let herself sink into her younger mind, and heard her thoughts say:
Haircut, then strawberries, then the Carvery.

The haircut was understandable, Poly thought, remembering ruefully the appalling mess that Persephone had made of her hair. And Persephone rang for strawberries at the same time every day, which were crushed and applied to her face in preparation for whatever evening entertainment she chose to attend.

But why the Carvery?
wondered Poly, listening intently to the memory-thoughts as they flowed past.

...a birthday present
I
like...
said Poly’s thoughts, accompanied by a flourish of pictures.

Poly grinned a small, meta-grin at the back of her own mind as her past self bore her along inexorably, passing down old corridors that were now lost to her. She’d been getting herself a birthday present for herself.

Images flitted past until her younger mind settled on one: a small wooden spindle that had carved curlicues and a lovely curve to it. Now that was interesting. Why a spindle?

The outdoor corridors were busier than usual. Brightly-dressed pages from various houses dodged through the strolling courtiers and around stone colonnades, shouting shrilly at each other over the hubbub of talk. The scent of roses wafted on the warm air, achingly familiar, and Poly felt her younger self smile at the scene as she swept quietly along the outskirts, her grey gown sweeping grey shadows to make her comfortably invisible. The pages dashed past her as if she weren’t there; and Poly, skirting the courtiers with even less trouble, remembered with a faint feeling of surprise that no one ever
did
see her. She had become so used to Luck’s invasive notice that the quiet safety of invisibility had all the quality of an old, favourite cloak stuffed to the back of the closet: still useful once in a while, but no longer worn every day.

Poly found herself enjoying the sensation, and it was something of a shock when she realized that someone
had
seen her. She noticed the fact before her younger self did, and felt a slight sick tug where her stomach would have been if she were corporeal.

Mordion, dressed all in silky dark blue, was lounging with panther-like grace against one of the colonnades; and if she was not mistaken, he had been watching her for quite some time. Beautiful and deadly, he had a reputation for breaking hearts that had made him even more attractive to most of the women in court. Immediate experience clashed with fractured memory, and with a cold chill, Poly remembered a sliver of the day. In a few seconds, Mordion would uncoil himself from the colonnade, attracting her notice, and stroll across the crowded walkway, parting the courtiers without effort.

He did so, and Poly’s memory merged with the scene, her head jerking back slightly as younger Poly realized his intent to cross her path. Poly noted approvingly the small, swift sidestep that her body gave in an attempt to forestall the meeting, and even more approvingly the scowl she felt forming on her face. Brief fragments of memory flashed past her mind as younger Poly remembered indications of Mordion’s interest over the last few weeks. The Shearing Day feast, where he had sat opposite her and gazed at her beneath his lashes, carefully dropping his eyes
just
after she caught him at it. The Princess’ walking picnic, where Mordion walked ostensibly with Persephone, conversing suavely, but still managed to help Poly over every bit of stony ground that she came even conceivably close to, murmuring charmingly in her ear at the same time.

But why me?
said younger Poly’s thoughts. Poly watched the flow of her own thoughts intently as they rippled around one stubborn idea that stood, rock-like, at the centre of her mind. That idea was that Mordion had a habit of flirting with women who, in some way or other, benefited him. There was Lady Angela, whose father was a very rich and influential backer of promising young mages attempting the treacherous climb to glory in the Mage’s Council. He was noted for his highly select dinner parties, at which you could always be certain of finding the most prominent members of the council; and, occasionally, the king and queen. That was ten years ago, and Mordion had been merely a new interest in the court: beautiful, certainly; but not very rich, or terribly powerful. Poly recalled Lady Cimone saying rather dryly that Lady Angela had opened a very useful door for him, and now she understood why. After Lady Angela, Mordion had briefly squired the Massey sisters to a succession of Harvest festivities, raising eyebrows by flirting outrageously with both girls. Gossip began to circulate that there would be a marriage between him and the elder girl, Helen. Poly, who was at the age of eleven entering her second year of service as lady-in-waiting to the youthful princess, and already a silent watcher, distrusted gossip. She was almost certain that Mordion was more interested in the younger, less beautiful, Mary. There was nothing concrete to suggest that he distinguished Mary particularly, nor was there evidence that he had taken advantage of either of the sisters in any way. There wasn’t really even anything to prove that he had squired them for any other reason than idle amusement: but Poly, sneaking out to watch the Harvest Night dancing from a tree that overlooked the courtyard in one quiet, shadowy corner, found herself overlooking more than just the dancing.

At first she was quite alone, content to pick tangberries and turn her fingers orange with the juice while she watched gauze and muslin flutter on the courtyard below. Then, so suddenly that Poly dropped one of her tangberries, a gentleman in blue masterfully swept his partner into the shadows of the tree. They were already talking when they stopped, and Poly heard the voice of Mary Massey say: “It’s not the same at all! I would like it back, thank you very much.”