Tamlyn (16 page)

‘Where to now?' I asked the butterflies as they hovered in a shadowed spot.

They didn't move, which wasn't such a bad idea. The men would still be looking for me, and my yellow dress, much as I loved it, would instantly give me away if they spotted it. The important thing was to warn Ryall not to take up the vigil after lunch, but our changeover time was more than an hour away yet, so I took my lead from the butterflies and stayed put.

When I did finally emerge from the shadows, I used the high tower of King Chatiny's palace to get my bearings and guide myself back to Miston's house. This time, the cloud of colour trailed me, instead of showing the way ahead.

‘Silvermay!' said Ryall in surprise when he opened the door. ‘It's not midday yet. Why have you left the square? Has something happened?'

The fear in his voice brought Tamlyn from the cellar and Miston from his bed where he was catching up on lost sleep. I looked over my shoulder for the butterflies, but they had gone. The men would never believe me, so I told them of the magician's warning and my wild escape, but not of the strange magic that had saved me.

‘Coyle will have his guardians on the lookout now. We'll have to find some other way to watch the house,' said Miston when we settled around his table to talk things through. ‘As for you, Silvermay, leave that yellow dress in the cupboard. In fact, you will have to stay here with Tamlyn now, in case Coyle's men keep looking for you.'

But what other way was there to watch the house? We still hadn't come up with a plan when a knock at the door interrupted our discussion. Had I been followed, after all? Terrified, I wondered if I had led Coyle to our hideaway and, in one swoop, he would snatch us all up.

‘Into the cellar,' Miston ordered.

He got no arguments from us, not even from Tamlyn, whose hand had gone instantly to his sword, I noticed. If I'd had a weapon, it would have been ready in my hand, too.

We heard Miston open the door. ‘Good afternoon, young man. What can I do for you?' he asked.

‘You can bring out the girl I've come to meet,' said a voice I recognised.

‘It's the magician,' I whispered to Tamlyn and Ryall and, before they could stop me, I climbed the stairs to join Miston at his door.

‘Ah, this
is
the house, then,' said the magician as soon as he saw me.

‘How did you find me?' I asked.

‘Can't you guess?' he answered, as though disappointed I'd had to ask, then grinned in an infuriating way.

‘Who are you?' I demanded.

‘My name is Geran,' he said with a little bow. ‘And since I have told you mine, it would be courteous to give me yours in exchange.'

If he was one of Coyle's spies, why would he have warned me that his companions were coming? No, whoever he was, he wasn't working for Coyle.

‘Silvermay,' I said, uncertainly. ‘Why did you —'

But he cut me off with a question of his own. ‘Why have you been watching Lord Coyle's house, Silvermay? There is a boy who's been watching, too — tall, with something odd about his arm. Is he a friend of yours?'

Movement behind me drew his eye over my shoulder, and before I could turn around I heard Ryall say, ‘Yes, we're friends.' He came to stand beside me and I saw that his sleeve was rolled up and the mechanical arm was visible.

‘A fine pair of spies you two make,' said the magician. ‘One wears a dress that only a blind man could miss and the other has a hand made of steel.'

When he put it like that, I had to admit we'd been careless. But I wasn't going to let him get the better of us.

‘How could you find me?' I snapped. ‘And those tricks, back in the square, the rope, the pigeon, the butterflies that helped me escape — those were more than a street conjurer's tricks. There was real magic in them. You're some kind of Wyrdborn, aren't you?'

It had only really occurred to me as the words left my mouth. He might not be working for Coyle, but he could well be in the pay of another — or worse still, King Chatiny.

‘Wyrdborn!' He spat the word out as though his mouth was filled with rotting apple. ‘I'm not one of that breed, you can be sure of it.'

Then where had the magic come from? I was still convinced his tricks were more than sleight of hand.

Miston and Ryall had looked at me as if I were mad when I mentioned the butterflies that had helped
me escape, but now a look of wonder came to Miston's face. ‘You are one of the Felan,' he said.

Until now, Geran had paid little attention to Miston, as though he were the helpless father of mischievous children. That changed instantly. Rather than deny what Miston had said, he gave a little bow and introduced himself all over again.

‘You are a scholar, sir,' he said to Miston. ‘But before we talk any more about me, I want an answer to my question. Why have these two been watching Coyle's house?'

‘For the same reason you have, most likely,' I said. ‘Coyle has something we want, something that's better off in our hands.'

Again, Geran didn't seem surprised. ‘Something, or someone?'

His answer made me even more certain that we were on the same mission.

‘All right,
someone
,' I said. ‘And if you are looking for the same person, you will be able to tell us more.'

‘A baby,' he said. ‘A male child.'

‘You know a lot for one who has come from so far away,' said Miston.

‘We keep watch on Athlane. Always have done, for centuries.'

‘You are a spy?' asked Ryall.

Geran shook his head. ‘Spies are sent by an enemy with thoughts of war. That's not why Erebis Felan keeps watch on Athlane. We have no quarrel with you, and no need to interfere unless we feel threatened. But lately, there have been rumours. The city my people left in the mountains has been uncovered, and there is talk of a child, the one predicted by our mystics long ago.'

‘The prophecy is the story shown in the mosaics?' asked Miston.

Geran nodded. ‘Every Felan grows up hearing the tale that is displayed there in ghastly detail — it has been passed down for hundreds of years. The pictures were created from the terrible visions that tormented the strongest of our seers. Some died from the horror of what they foresaw. If that child has been born, after all, then the elders in Erebis Felan must know.'

‘How did you know to watch Lord Coyle's house?'

‘I didn't, not until he murdered his wife. That brought him to my attention, and when I asked quietly around town about him and followed his servants to the tavern where they let slip a word here and a word there, I became more interested. Call me a spy if you like,' he said to Ryall, ‘but so are you and it seems we are looking for the same young boy. And we must find him before he turns into a monster no force can resist, not even the Felan.'

We were still standing in Miston's narrow entrance hall. Now Miston gestured to Geran. ‘You'd better come in, then. We have a lot more to discuss, I'm sure.'

Geran followed us to the table, but refused the chair Miston pulled out for him, instead choosing one that let him see both the door that led onto the street and the opening in the floor that led to the cellar.

‘Please excuse me, but caution makes me keep doorways in sight,' he said. ‘And there's something in this house that unsettles me.'

‘You have nothing to fear from us,' Miston said. ‘If we are to be allies in this business, we must trust one another.'

Geran agreed, but still watched the top of the stairs with suspicion.

Miston had called Geran our ally and I certainly saw him that way. We both wanted to free Lucien, but I was quickly becoming excited about something just as wonderful. Once Lucien was in my arms again, we would set out for Erebis Felan, and who would make a better travelling companion than a man who came from that faraway land. I could hardly believe our luck.

‘My escape from Coyle's men, those butterflies — it was magic, wasn't it?' I said.

‘The bearded man was Coyle's chamberlain,' said Geran. ‘I've seen him checking supplies as they arrive
at the house. As for your escape, yes, I have powers, if you want to call them that. That's how I found you here. The butterflies not only led you to safety, they came back to the square to show me where you lived. I must be honest with you, though, my powers might make it easy to entertain a crowd, but I have no magic to help me get inside Coyle's fortress. How about you?' he asked, searching the other faces around the table. ‘Why are you so sure about Coyle? Has one of his servants told you of a baby held somewhere in the house?'

We three shared a look and left it to Miston to explain.

‘We don't think Coyle has the baby in his home,' he said.

‘Lucien,' I reminded him. ‘He's not “the baby”, he has a name.'

‘You give the baby a name, Silvermay, as though you know him well,' said Geran.

‘As well as a mother knows her son,' I replied, and, taking a breath, I launched into the story of how Nerigold's little boy had become mine.

‘Wherever Lucien is being held, Coyle will want to check on him — or, at least, that's what we hoped. We've been keeping watch, ready to follow him. Unless we've missed him, he hasn't left the house and it's been three days now. We're beginning to think —'

‘No, you haven't missed him,' said Geran. ‘I've been watching longer than you, day and night, and Coyle hasn't left his house, not even in disguise. Be sure of it.'

‘He doesn't have to leave the house,' said a new voice.

We all turned to see Tamlyn's head emerge from the cellar, where he'd been listening to every word. Beside me, I was aware of Geran tensing his entire body. The vague suspicion that had made him glance so often towards the stairs had suddenly hardened into something violent and dangerous. For a moment, I was worried he would launch himself at Tamlyn as he finished climbing the stairs to join us.

‘What do you mean, he doesn't have to leave the house?' asked Miston, who had clearly sensed the brief sparks in the room just as I had.

‘He doesn't have to come out into the street. He can get where he wants to go from inside his stronghold.'

‘If you knew our vigil was a waste of time why didn't you tell us?' I asked curtly. ‘And why have you been sneaking out at night?'

Everyone turned to me in surprise, including Tamlyn. But he didn't deny it.

‘I didn't know any more than the rest of you at first, Silvermay. As for my night-time adventures, that
was restlessness. I couldn't stay here while the rest of you took the risks. On the first night, I joined the vigil secretly and it's just as well I did otherwise I would never have seen the bats.'

‘Bats!' All around the table repeated the word, although I was the only one who shivered in disgust.

‘They stirred up memories from my childhood,' said Tamlyn. ‘It was a long time ago, but I've been to the place where Coyle is keeping Lucien, I'm certain of it.'

‘You know how we can get into the house, then?' prompted Geran.

Tamlyn shook his head.

‘What use is it knowing where the boy is, if we can't get to him?' asked Geran.

‘But we can,' Tamlyn replied instantly. ‘I've been searching for another way and last night I found one.'

T
amlyn settled himself on a chair while Miston's servant brought food and a jug of wine. Ryall reached for the jug, but my hand was faster. I poured a measure for each of the men and left the jug out of his reach. Ryall glared at me and might have argued his right to a cup if Tamlyn hadn't begun to tell his story.

‘Beneath my father's house there is a cellar, like your own, Master Dessar, except it is larger and goes deeper into the earth. It is used to store wine.' He raised his cup to mark the coincidence.

‘If Lucien was being kept in the wine cellar, surely your mother would have known,' said Miston. ‘Yet she was certain Coyle hadn't brought the boy into the house.'

‘And she was right. Lucien isn't in the cellar, or in any other part of the stronghold. We are talking about my childhood home, don't forget, and, like all boys, I explored my own domain. When I braved the cobwebs of that cellar, I discovered a door behind one of the racks. My Wyrdborn strength wasn't enough to open it, but I told my father about it. I soon wished I hadn't.'

‘Why?' I asked, already alert to the pain this story seemed to hold for Tamlyn.

‘Beyond the door was nothing but darkness. I didn't want to venture any further, but my father lit a rushlight and pushed me ahead of him into a tunnel of some kind. He kept the flame far enough behind me to be sure I'd be frightened of what I couldn't see. I stumbled and fell, cutting my hands when I landed on brittle, jagged stones — only when the light from behind me fell on them I saw they weren't stones, but the bones of rats and other vermin I didn't dare imagine. My father sneered at me to get up, to keep going. Hating him, I staggered on out of stubborn pride. Before long, the echoes around me changed and the light was eaten up by a much larger space. I'd reached some kind of cavern crowded with what looked like massive tree trunks. I was too frightened to see what they really were.

‘Coyle kept on behind me, demanding I go further. I made my way among the trees, as I called them in my
mind, being careful to count each one in case he doused the light and made me find my own way back. By then, I could hear a new sound coming from deeper in the darkness, a kind of screeching, like birds, a dozen, a hundred, a thousand — but, of course, birds can't live in total darkness …'

‘Bats,' I said for the second time that day. ‘They weren't birds, they were bats.'

‘Yes. I was terrified they'd sense me invading their sanctuary and swoop down in waves as thick as blood. That was when I gave in and begged my father to let me go back. And he did, because he'd got what he wanted. He'd humiliated me, found the limits of my courage, while he had stood firm and unafraid.'

‘How old were you?' asked Ryall.

‘No more than eight years old.'

‘That's as cruel as anything I've heard of.'

Considering Ryall had lost an arm to Wyrdborn cruelty, it was quite a thing for him to say.

‘So you think Coyle has taken the baby into this cavern beneath his house,' said Geran.

I pictured my poor Lucien in such a place. ‘Was it dry?' I asked. ‘You said there were bones. Were there live rats, too?'

‘If there were, they stayed out of my way. It's the bats that I remember, because I was so frightened of
them. Although I see you shudder every time you hear the word, Silvermay, you should be thankful as those bats have shown me a way into Coyle's hiding place.' He was excited now. ‘Silvermay is right, I
have
been slipping out at night. I wanted to watch for my father; after all, I would know him better than anyone if he emerged in disguise.'

‘He didn't, though, did he?' said Geran, who sounded as eager for the rest of the story as I was.

‘No, but towards morning, I noticed bats overhead. I watched them, remembering my fear of long ago. They were returning from the fields and the forests where they feed during the night and it struck me that no matter what point of the compass they came from, they all seemed headed for the same place. I followed their flight, but I'd left it too late. I had to come back here before sunrise in case the rest of you woke up. The next night, I went out again.'

Yes, and with me on your tail
, I was tempted to say, but didn't. Tamlyn's ventures had sprouted seeds of suspicion inside me, suspicions I desperately wanted to pull out by the roots. To do that, I needed his story to match what I had seen with my own eyes.

‘This time I discovered where the bats were going,' he said triumphantly. ‘It was quite amazing really, they were all heading down into —'

‘A well in the east of the city,' said Miston.

Tamlyn sat back, open-mouthed. ‘How did you know?'

‘If you'd lived more among the commonfolk you'd have heard about Batswell. It's something of a legend, has been for as long as I can remember. Every evening, thousands of bats emerge from the mouth of the well into the night sky, and yet during the day there is no sound from below, no sign of movement, and the water drawn from the well's depths is as pure as any in the city. Some say the bats are born anew each evening, that it is dark magic at work.'

Tamlyn gave a dismissive snort. ‘Do you believe them, Miston?'

The scholar made a face and said, ‘It's easier to believe in magic than get out of bed early enough to see the bats returning.'

‘And much easier than climbing down to inspect the well, too, I'll bet,' added Tamlyn, whose serious tone couldn't mask how pleased he was with himself. ‘No, it's not magic, Miston. There's an opening in the wall, too far down to be seen from the top. I know because I climbed inside the well and crawled through the opening as far as I could go.'

‘That's the way in, then,' said Ryall. ‘We can reach Coyle's hiding place through this Batswell place.'

‘I wish it were that simple,' said Tamlyn. ‘The opening is fine for bats, but too narrow for humans.'

‘But you said you'd found a way in,' said Ryall.

Tamlyn put up his hand. ‘I haven't finished yet.'

No, he hadn't. I'd seen him do a strange thing at the well and needed to know why.

‘As I climbed out of the well, there were bats darting past me on their way to the roosting place underground. An idea came to me. What would the bats do if they couldn't get through the tunnel? Was there another way in? The only way to find out was to block off the well at the top.'

So that was it! I knew now what he had been doing with the planks of wood.

‘Very clever. They led you to a different opening, didn't they?' said Ryall.

‘Yes, to a place I should have thought of before the bats showed me the way. As soon as we reached it, I realised why there is a mysterious cavern beneath my father's house.'

‘The City of Lost Souls,' said Miston Dessar.

‘You're ahead of me again,' Tamlyn said to the scholar. ‘I'd never heard about that place when my father forced me into the darkness as a child. Later, when I heard those stories on the street, I'd forgotten my terror underground. Only when the bats showed me
a better way into their roosting place did I realise there were no trees in that eerie place — they were columns of stone, cut by the hand of man.'

‘Lost souls!' said Ryall. ‘Sounds like the entrance to hell.'

‘Not the hell you are thinking of, Ryall,' Miston assured him, ‘but a place not much different for many poor wretches. It's not just beneath Coyle's house, it spreads under other parts of the city, as well. For a long time, it was used to bury the dead and there are said to be bones stacked tightly along the walls even today.'

‘It seems you know more than I do, Master Dessar,' Tamlyn conceded.

‘Then perhaps I should explain,' Miston said, with a modest bow of his greying head. ‘The story goes back centuries, to when the first king made his capital here in Vonne and stone was needed to build a palace. The stone was cut from beneath the city itself.'

‘But if the ground was dug out below, wouldn't the buildings collapse?' asked Ryall.

‘Once, when I was younger than you are now, that's just what happened,' Miston told him, with a nod of respect for how quickly he'd seen the problem. ‘One side of an entire street fell into a chasm and people died among the rubble. It was a terrible thing and made a big impression on me at the time. The mines beneath
the city had been forgotten over the centuries, you see, but the leaders of the day sent engineers down to be sure no further collapses would occur. They found the mined areas were supported by columns of stone.'

‘They're what I saw as a frightened boy,' said Tamlyn.

‘Yes. Where the street had collapsed, the pillars below hadn't been strong enough, but the engineers declared the rest to be safe and no more buildings have disappeared since.'

‘From what Tamlyn described, there is nothing down there but rats and bats,' said Geran. ‘Why did you call it the City of Lost Souls?'

‘Because, today, a different kind of animal lives down there. Once the engineers had done their job, others found use for such a place — thieves and cutthroats wanted by the guardians; men who'd fallen foul of the Wyrdborn; the crippled and the destitute, human wrecks who'd lost their minds. Here was a place where the rest of the city would leave them alone, out of sight, forgotten.'

‘Did you see these lost souls when your father forced you to go exploring?' I asked Tamlyn.

He shook his head. ‘Didn't see them, didn't hear them. There was no sign that anyone had been that way for a hundred years.'

‘Then we can't be sure this … what did you call it, City of Lost Souls? … How do we know it will take us to the child?' asked Geran.

‘We don't,' said Tamlyn. ‘But there's only one way to find out.'

I had been swept up in the promise of Tamlyn's story as much as anyone — a way into Coyle's hiding place, the chance to rescue my Lucien that we'd hoped for. Now, with the story finished and hope blooming around the table, another joy flowed through me. Everything Tamlyn had told us was just as I had seen with my own eyes. His strange behaviour at the well made sense now and the relief left me lighter than air.

It didn't take long to touch earth again, however. Tamlyn had discovered what we needed early this morning and yet he had watched me go off to the square where I would have been captured if Geran hadn't been there to help me.

‘You planned to explore the stone mines by yourself, didn't you?' I said to him. ‘And not just to be sure Lucien is down there.'

He knew well enough why I was asking. ‘I will keep my promise to you, Silvermay,' he said coldly.

 

If Tamlyn had hoped to go underground alone, his chance was gone. There was even an extra member
of the team now — Geran. We retreated to the cellar, where we set to work binding rushes into torches to take with us. Miston would not accompany us into the mines — his ageing bones would hold us back — and to make up for this, he worked harder than anyone to make the rushlights. The City of Lost Souls, they called that dark, underground place. My own soul shivered with dread at what we would find there.

‘I wish you luck,' Miston said. ‘My colleagues and I will carry on the fight alone … if you don't return, that is.'

It was the first mention of the danger we faced in the strange underworld. Even if we found a way through unscathed, a greater challenge awaited to free Lucien.

‘Is it wise to take a girl with you?' Miston asked Tamlyn. ‘Silvermay doesn't have the strength of you and Geran.'

‘Neither does Ryall,' I said immediately.

‘But he's not afraid of bats as you seem to be, Silvermay,' said Miston.

I expected Tamlyn to dismiss the question — of course I was going with them — but he stopped knotting twine to consider his answer. If it came to an argument, I needed Ryall to be my ally, but wouldn't you know it, he'd slipped upstairs at just the wrong
moment, to fill his belly, most likely. But I did have an ally, as it turned out, an unexpected one.

‘Why not a girl?' asked Geran. ‘Not every warrior has to wield a sword. We will need eyes to guard our backs, arms to carry the boy once we find him. As for the bats, well, I'm not keen on them myself, but I'll endure and so will Silvermay.'

Miston conceded with a nod. ‘When you put it that way, Geran. I was only thinking of Silvermay's safety. But whether she fights or simply marches behind you, a dress is no outfit for such a mission. The loose skirts will catch her legs if you have to run or climb.'

‘In that much, I agree with you,' said Geran. ‘What do you suggest?'

Miston thought for a moment, then called for his servant. When the man descended the stairs to join us, Miston led me over to stand next to him. ‘Yes, I thought as much,' he said. ‘You two are the same height.' And before I quite knew what was happening, the servant had been sent off to fetch his spare set of clothes.

The men turned their backs while I hauled the yellow dress over my head and buttoned up the servant's white shirt to replace it. The trousers were a mystery when it came to fastening them and it took me several attempts. The sensation of cloth fitting snugly around each leg was new to me.

‘Feels strange,' I announced, letting them know that they could turn around.

‘You get used to it,' said Geran, looking me over with a smile that seemed more knowing than teasing.

Miston turned to his servant again. ‘Do we have scissors in the house?' he asked.

‘I have my father's shears, master, from when he worked his own farm.'

I guessed what this was about. ‘I'm not a sheep — you're not going to chop off my hair with a pair of shears. I'll tuck it under a cap.'

‘You have too much hair for that,' said Geran. ‘There's another way.' Turning me gently around, he loosened the ribbon I used to tie my simple ponytail and combed out my hair with his fingers. ‘You don't know women very well, do you, Master Dessar? How could you even think of cutting off a girl's pride and joy?'