The Book of Lies (13 page)

Gadfly’s ears twitched, and Marcel quickly guessed the reason why. “Someone’s coming,” he murmured.

“Is it them?” Bea asked.

If it was, then it was Gadfly’s doing. The Book had given her an eagle’s wings: perhaps it had given her an eagle’s eyes as well. But they couldn’t be sure who it was for now, so they hurried into the trees, hiding themselves easily – even Gadfly – amid the thick growth of the forest.

The travellers appeared soon afterwards, in single file: a tall man in a dashing black cape leading the way, two weary children behind him and a grim-faced bowman bringing up the rear.

“What will we do?” Bea asked when they had passed.

Marcel felt the ring on his little finger. If he appeared now,
calling to them, Starkey might be furious and send him straight back to Mrs Timmins. “I’m not sure,” he confessed sadly. “We’d better follow them, I suppose, at a distance.”

They trailed behind them, careful to remain hidden. After about an hour, the forest became darker. Had the trees grown taller here, Marcel wondered, or was it those menacing grey clouds that now crowded out the sun? Whatever the reason, it had become a different place somehow. Gadfly’s ears twitched again and moments later the howl of a wolf echoed through the trees, bringing goose bumps to every inch of their skin.

A commotion ahead on the track made the others stop, and leaving Gadfly where she was, Marcel and Bea crept closer to see what had caused it. A wolf was prowling in a wide circle around Starkey, Hector and the two children. When it stood still for a moment, Hector took aim and hoisted a stone at it.

The wolf ran off, but Nicola slumped on to a log to show her exhaustion, and even Hector dropped his pack and his heavy sword on to the ground at his feet. Seeing this, Starkey signalled a few minutes’ rest.

Not for Fergus, though. As Marcel and Bea watched from a distance, he took the sword Hector had discarded and waited until the others were turned away from him, then slipped silently into the trees.

“What’s he up to?” Bea whispered.

“I don’t know, but it’s a chance to speak to him alone.
Starkey might have told them where they’re going, or more about who we are.”

“But there’s no trail to follow where Fergus has gone. How will Gadfly find a way through?” Bea asked. Marcel had to think quickly before he lost sight of Fergus. “You stay with Gadfly, Bea. I’ll speak to Fergus alone.”

He had already started moving off before he felt the Book of Lies pulling at his shoulder. He could not waste another second; it would have to come with him.

But then he looked back at Bea, standing beside two dappled trees that had grown into one. His face fell and he stayed where he was. She was so small, so vulnerable – and he was about to leave her alone.

She knew what was troubling him. “Gadfly and I will be all right. I feel safe here, safer than I’ve ever been. You don’t have to worry.”

Marcel headed off quickly, puzzled at Bea’s strange confidence. But if he was to find Fergus, he would have to put his mind to the task. There was no track to help him, but it wasn’t long before be came across the imprint of fresh footsteps. Soon after that, a mighty war cry sounded through the trees, spurring him to hurry on, until he rounded a huge boulder and found Fergus standing in an open stretch of ground, Hector’s sword held in both hands above his head.

Fallen twigs and the crunch of Marcel’s shoes on the ground made Fergus spin round.

“Marcel!” He was stunned. “How did
you
get here? You were supposed to stay behind.” Then his eyes widened in a moment of fear that he couldn’t hide. “Termagant! She’ll be after you!”

“You don’t need to worry. She’s miles behind, and besides, I didn’t leave a trail she can easily follow.”

Fergus couldn’t make sense of this, and Marcel was quietly satisfied by his confusion. “I’ve been following you all for a while now, and when I saw you go after the wolf –”

Fergus cut him off, smiling triumphantly. “He’d have been in after our food tonight if I hadn’t chased him away.”

“But what if he’d turned on you?”

“I’m not afraid of a wolf. And besides, I have this,” he said, brandishing the sword proudly. “It’s Hector’s. He’s a real soldier, Marcel, a sergeant in the Army – or at least he was.”

Marcel did his best to listen, but he was becoming increasingly distracted by the eeriness of the clearing. Since Gadfly had landed on the lake’s shore over an hour ago, there had always been a bird calling to its mate in the trees or the sound of wind breathing under the bracken. Now, there was only an unsettling silence.

Suddenly, he noticed that Fergus was staring towards the huge boulder. When he turned, he found the way he had come blocked by a stony-eyed wolf.

“I thought you’d frightened it off,” he reproached Fergus.

“It’s not the same one.”

“What do you mean?” said Marcel.

“Look at it. See the white fur on its belly? The wolf I chased away was black from head to tail.”

Just as he spoke, that same black wolf stalked out from behind the boulder to join the first. Marcel felt a chill in his bones. He backed away, but when he turned to check the ground behind him, he saw that two more wolves were edging their way into the clearing. There was something sinister about their red eyes, almost as though these creatures were more than simply wolves.

Fergus raised his sword and lunged at the closest of them. Beside him, Marcel had nothing to fend them off but his bare hands. He tried swinging the bag with the Book of Lies inside it, but heavy though it was, it wouldn’t be enough.

Slipping the strap over his head again, he snatched up a fallen tree branch to make a club of sorts. He struck at the nearest wolf, but his feeble attack brought only a low, menacing growl that turned his blood to ice.

Fergus’s sword swung again, making the wolves wary, but they weren’t as cautious with Marcel. He struck hard with his club, hitting one on the snout as it backed away. The wolves were toying with them, testing them. Any second now, they would rush in from all directions.

“We haven’t got a chance if we stay apart!” Fergus yelled. “We’ll have to stand back-to-back!”

Marcel didn’t take this in. Fear made him stare blankly at the wolves and chased everything else from his mind.

“Behind me!” Fergus shouted, with more urgency this time. When Marcel still didn’t move, Fergus swore savagely and moved closer himself until he was guarding Marcel from behind.

“Move when I move, and turn when I turn,” he commanded, and at last Marcel understood. The wolves in front of Fergus were kept at bay by his sword, wielded bravely and with a skill that even he couldn’t explain. When they circled towards Marcel, who had only a stick of wood to defend himself, the boys turned quickly in unison, bringing Fergus to face them.

The black wolf rushed in, but it fell away sharply, snarling in pain from a blow to its jaw. The pack circled again, closing in on Marcel, and though he fought them off with heavy blows, one grabbed his arm. Fergus swung round with a mighty slash that took the wolf just behind its front leg. Yelping as the blood spilled on to its fur, the beast released its grip.

“Are you all right?”

“There’s blood, but I can still move it.”

“Stay on your feet,” Fergus told him urgently. “If they get us down, we’re finished.”

A second wolf sprang at them and this time snared the leg of Fergus’s breeches just above the ankle. Despite his own warning, he was dragged to his knees. Marcel swung his awkward club and forced the others away, but there was
nothing he could do for Fergus. If he turned on that wolf for a moment, the other three would tear both of them to pieces.

Fergus hammered desperately at his attacker using the handle of the sword, but this alone was not enough. Turning the sword in his hands, he held it like an enormous dagger, and with only a moment to aim, he drove the point into the wolf’s side. A pitiful yelping rose up instantly as the wolf slumped to the ground beside him. Marcel watched, his stomach churning as Fergus pulled the blade free. “Behind you!” Fergus screamed, and Marcel turned just in time to beat off another attack.

Fergus struggled to his feet, dragging air back into his lungs, and once again turned back-to-back with his companion. One wolf lay dying, and a second bled from a shoulder wound, but it circled still with the other two, all twice as thirsty for the kill now that their companion had been slain. Exhausted, and bleeding themselves, the boys might not be able to beat them back this time. The wolves advanced.

Then a noise in the distance made their heads turn. Even the wolves looked away. Running feet, human feet, pounding quickly towards them.

“Here!” shouted Fergus desperately.

Starkey burst into the clearing, his sword whirling ferociously and in his other hand the jewelled dagger. He came at the wolves, catching the weakened one with a second
blow, so that now two wolves were accounted for. His terrible blades kept up their savage work until the remaining pair finally backed away to the edge of the clearing.

“Marcel!” Starkey cried in astonishment when he realised there were two boys to be saved. “What are you –” He broke off. There was no time for such questions now. “Quickly, there might be others nearby,” he hissed, pushing them in front of him. He kept his sword ready, looking ahead of them one moment and over his own shoulder the next.

No more wolves appeared, and by the time they reached the track, where Hector and Nicola were waiting, it was plain that for now the creatures had given up the attack.

“Marcel! You escaped after all!” cried Nicola, her enthusiasm taking him unawares. But when she saw the blood on his sleeve, her voice changed quickly from amazement to concern. “What happened?” she asked, looking beyond him as though Termagant herself were chasing them.

“Wolves,” Starkey answered, as he guided Fergus to a fallen log and sat him down to inspect his leg. “You’re lucky,” he said after tearing away the ravaged cloth. “It didn’t get hold of you.”

There was blood dripping on to the soil, though, and it was only then that Starkey realised it came from a deep gash in his own hand. Hector brought him a rag, and after he had dabbed away the blood he bound the wound tightly.

Another was handed to Marcel, who laid the leather sack aside and sat down next to Fergus. When he had wiped the
blood away, he found that three teethmarks had punctured his skin.

“You’ll live,” Hector sniffed dismissively. He took back his weapon from Fergus, then turned his mind to something that concerned him more than flesh wounds and stolen swords. “What’s this one doing here?” he muttered to Starkey, nodding towards Marcel. “He’s meant to be back in Fallside. How could he have caught up with us?”

Starkey fingered his chin and gazed thoughtfully at Marcel. “Hector is right. What are you doing so far from the orphanage? How did you come to be in that clearing?”

“I had no choice; I had to escape,” Marcel told them hotly. At the same time he wondered how he could explain about Gadfly. They would think he was mad. A flying horse! Even he could barely believe it. And what would he tell them about Bea and the Book of Lies? He wasn’t ready yet to reveal the prize he had brought with him!

But he had brought magic of another kind with him too, and this was all that mattered to Starkey. “You still have that ring on your finger, I see. What did you tell me back in Fallside? The beast you spoke of, Termagant, you told me it would follow you, it would be able to find you, wherever you went. Wasn’t that Lord Alwyn’s curse?”

His face grew stony as his suspicions hardened into fear. “The old wizard has
let
you escape. He has used you, boy, used you to lead his fearsome creature to the rest of us.”

At this, Hector fitted an arrow to his bow and stared into the trees in the direction they had come. Soon they were all looking about them nervously, even Marcel as he worked at the golden ring, tugging vainly.

Starkey rested one hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to use it at a moment’s notice, but his eyes settled on Marcel. The fingers of his other hand cupped his chin, stroking roughly through the stubble until he seemed to reach a decision. “There is only one solution,” he said firmly. “You must go back to the orphanage.”

“But you’ve got swords and Hector’s got his bow,” Nicola protested.

“Against such magic? Even with a hundred men, I would still send him back. So long as Marcel has that ring on his finger, Termagant can find him and Lord Alwyn will know where we are.”

The terrible emptiness stirred again in Marcel’s heart, causing more pain than the teethmarks on his arm. “But I have some part in what you’re going to do,” he pleaded. “You told me so yourself.”

“I have these two instead. You’re nothing but a threat to us,” answered Starkey with a cruel candour. But when he saw how deeply he had cut Marcel, he tried to convince him with gentler arguments. “You must go back, for the good of us all,” he urged, and coming forward three paces he laid his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder.

Marcel heard the change in Starkey’s tone and knew instantly that he was right. For the good of them all, he must go back before the curse of Lord Alwyn’s ring led Termagant to this sorry band of fugitives. She could end their flight with a single savage swipe of her claws. Just the thought of it made him wince.