The Golden Cage (48 page)

The
sun was shining down through wet leaves and birds were singing a loud dawn chorus when he woke. Benfro stretched, pushing his wings wide as it occurred to him that Errol had been awake all night and that he had not dreamed a thing while he slept. Looking round, he saw the boy still wedged against the cave wall, his eyes drooping slightly, his brow creased in concentration much like Sir Frynwy's when he tried to remember a particularly obscure bit of lore. Benfro reached out with his aura, automatically knotting it around the ever-present rose cord and erecting his mental defences against Magog. As he did so, Errol's frown relaxed and he looked up.

‘Did you sleep well?'

‘Very well, thank you. You look like you could do with a nap yourself.'

Errol struggled to his feet, knees popping like an old man's as he stretched. ‘I could. But I think I'd better check out that village before word gets out from Cerdys. I might be able to pick up some food too. I can sleep all afternoon and we can head off after dark.'

‘Won't they be suspicious if you walk in from nowhere?'

‘Villagers are always suspicious. But they're usually more hospitable than townsfolk. At least that's been my experience. I should be fine.' And with that Errol heaved his bag over his shoulder, scrambled out of the gully and was gone.

As Errol had predicted, the villagers were wary of him to start with, but hospitable. The small tavern at the centre both fed him and provided him with provisions for his journey. He hadn't been able to buy another horse, since none were available, but this was probably not a bad thing as most seemed to be skittish around dragons. Errol had thus concluded his business in the village by midday and was about to leave when a small band of rough-looking men rode into town.

Their arrival caused much excitement, and it wasn't long before Errol heard the word ‘circus' whispered among the grubby children who played at the roadside, chasing chickens and hitting each other with sticks. The men went into the tavern, laughing among themselves and ignoring everyone else. Errol ducked back in behind them. His empty plate and tankard still sat uncleared at the table by the unlit fireplace where he had eaten, so he quickly sat himself back down again, pretending he had never left. The men didn't seem to notice him, too intent were they on shouting for the barmaid to bring them ale. She bustled around, drawing several tankards from the barrel and banging them down on the bar.

‘It's not often we see the circus here these days. Will you be giving us a show?'

‘Sorry, love. We're just camped up for the night. Master
Loghtan's got some bee in his bonnet. Reckons he's found a new act and wants to make sure it's all ready for the royal performance.'

The barmaid's disappointment was obvious even to Errol. ‘How long you staying, then?'

‘Not long, I'd wager. We've not made a proper camp or anything. We'll probably push on down to Gremmil first thing tomorrow.'

‘So you're here for the night, then?'

‘Oh, aye. If you're looking for a show, why not come out to the camp? We're always practising something or other. An audience is always welcome.'

Errol could see what was going on as plain as day. No doubt the barmaid would go out to the circus camp, and if she didn't come back until the morrow morning, then that was her business, he supposed. Still, it gave him an idea. He slipped once more out of the tavern and headed off up the road in the direction from which the men had ridden. There was only one road running through the village, itself no more than a dozen small houses clustered around a central green with a spring feeding into a small stream. The road rose gently to a ridge about a mile distant. Errol climbed slowly, the midday sun hot on his head, until he reached the top, and there, spread out over the grassy plain below, was the circus.

Having only ever read about such things before, the circus looked to Errol very much like a small travelling army. There were perhaps four dozen large wagons, drawn up in lines just off the road. Horses grazed the grass, tethered so that they didn't wander too far, and a couple of large tents had been set up. Smoke rose from a fire near
the centre of the camp, and as he approached Errol could smell cooking meat.

Closer to the circus, he saw people wandering about, busy at tasks he couldn't begin to comprehend. A group of children juggled and skipped over a long rope, their play skilled and graceful in marked contrast to the village boys. He supposed they were practising, but as soon as they saw him, they stopped, running off between the great wagons screaming with laughter. Errol felt a bit awkward just walking around staring. He could see now that many of the wagons were ornamented, painted in vivid colours and hung with cooking implements, shovels, water barrels. It struck him that they were people's homes and he had no right nosing around them.

‘Can I help you, young man?' The voice almost made him jump out of his skin. Errol turned to see an old woman, her face darkened by a lifetime in the sun and wrinkled like dried fruit. Her hair was white, but her eyes were sharp. She was dressed plainly, and held herself upright with all the vigour and self-importance of a noble.

‘I was in the village over there.' Errol pointed back up the road. ‘I heard the circus had camped here and thought I'd come over to look. I've never seen one before.'

‘Never seen the circus before?' The woman's face relaxed and she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. ‘Why, where you been all your life, young man? The Twin Kingdoms?'

Errol tried not to start at the suggestion, but something of his alarm must have shown. The woman laughed.

‘Tis a joke, young man. For sure, they're so tied up with their Shepherd over the hills, they don't know how to
enjoy themselves. But I'm forgetting my manners. Please. Any traveller's welcome in our camp. Can I offer you a bite to eat? Some tea perhaps? I'm Griselda, by the by. I work with the lioncats.'

Errol 's eyes widened in surprise, and he almost forgot to introduce himself.

‘Errol. Errol Balch. And thank you, but I've just recently eaten. Did you say lioncats?'

Griselda laughed again. ‘That I did. Would you like to see them, Errol Balch?'

‘I … well … yes.' Errol nodded his head, wondering why he was acting like an imbecile. He had read of lioncats as a child, knew that they were savage, untamable creatures that lived in the arid plains of the far east. He had never expected to see one.

‘Well then, come this way. They're due a feed anyway.'

Errol hesitated as Griselda marched off down a narrow alley formed by two lines of wagons. After about a dozen paces, she stopped, turned and saw him still standing at the roadside.

‘Don't worry. I'm not going to feed you to them.' She laughed again, beckoning him on.

The circus animals were housed in large wagons arranged in a square. Errol recognized a few of the creatures lolling in their cages in the midday heat, but most of them were completely new to him. Griselda mentioned a few names as she led him past sleeping wolves, brown bears, gibbering apes. At one cage she stooped to pick up a bucket of water, throwing it through the bars into the darkness beyond. Something barked at her, a bit like a dog, and when she threw in a second bucketful a fat nose
with thick whiskers poked out, snuffling the air. An overpowering odour of rotting fish wafted over him, making Errol cough and gag.

‘Ah, don't mind the smell of old Bogey there. You get used to it after a while.'

‘Erm, what is it?'

‘That's a genuine sealrus, from the Sea of Tegid, that is. Loghtan picked him up the last time we were in Kais.'

‘Loghtan?'

‘The circus master. Loghtan's been running this show more 'n forty years now. His father and grandfather afore him. They're a proud family of carnies, they are, even if young Tegwin don't take much after his old man.'

Errol let the information wash over him as Griselda spoke. He had only the vaguest idea of what she was talking about, but she was friendly and kind. Instead, he looked around at the wagons. Some were open-sided, with heavy iron bars keeping the beasts within from escaping. Others were solid, with tiny windows. One or two of the wagons rocked slightly, as if the creatures hidden within were pacing restlessly back and forth. Most were silent and still, the horses that pulled them hobbled and grazing the long plains grass a way off from the camp. Occasionally a strange moan or an ear-splitting roar would shatter the quiet, sending shivers down his spine even though the day was hot and sticky.

‘Here we are. Callias and Pello, my two mountain lioncats. We caught them as cubs, ah … it must be ten years ago now. Out in the wildlands to the west of Mount Arnahi.'

Errol approached a low-slung wagon, open-sided at
one end but with a closed area up where the driver would sit. Two lithe creatures lay in the shade of the roof, panting in the heat and flicking away flies with their long tails. They were the colour of burned sand, their fur smooth over strong muscles. Their heads were broad, pointed ears ending in long tufts of hair, whiskers short and thick, eyes yellow and piercing. He stared at them, entranced.

‘Aren't they magnificent?' Griselda's voice was heavy with love and pride, like a mother clucking over her children. And yet there was something terribly wrong. Errol could feel the frustration of the animals as they looked through their bars to the endless plain beyond. He could see how they pined for the open spaces, and how their coats were not as glossy as they should have been, their muscles not as taut.

‘Here, would you like to feed them, Errol?' Griselda knocked the lid off a small barrel beside the wagon, and the stench of rotten meat filled the air. She dug around inside, pulling out a haunch of some unidentifiable animal, and offered it to him. He could see flecks of white on it where the flies had laid eggs, and as he took it from her several plump yellow maggots fell to the ground.

‘Just push it through the bars. They won't bite you.'

Errol moved closer, anxious to get rid off the fetid meat but unsure whether giving it to the lioncats was any sort of kindness. He hoisted it through the bars, throwing it towards the nearest of the two animals, who yawned wide and revealed broken, chipped and blackened fangs. As the meat slapped on to the straw-strewn wagon floor, the poor beasts roused themselves, showing swollen joints and bone under thin skin. Errol could see sores through
their fur where they had lain for too long, and his initial sense of wonder was erased completely.

‘Magnificent, aren't they? I raised them myself. They treat me like their pack leader.' Griselda spoke with quiet pride, and when Errol looked at her, he could see that she was completely blind to the suffering she inflicted. He looked back at the two lioncats, gnawing at the rotten carcass, withering away in their cage and taunted by the sights and smells of the unreachable wilderness just beyond their bars.

I'd free you, if I could, he thought, and for a moment they both stopped their chewing and looked straight at him with intelligent sad eyes.

Tearing himself away from their gaze, Errol looked around for something, anything at all, to get him away from the lioncats. Across the camp, set away from the other animal cages, there was a single wagon twice the usual size. It was a heavy construction, thick oak planks held together with black iron plates. Tiny windows, no more than air vents really, were set into the sides high up, where no one could peer inside, and from where he stood, Errol could see no way of getting in.

‘What's in that wagon?' He waited until Griselda tore her gaze away from her beloved lioncats and pointed. She looked momentarily annoyed, then her smile crept back on to her face.

‘That. Ah yes. I'm not surprised you noticed that. In there, young Master Errol, is our dragon.'

‘Dragon?' Errol realized he sounded like an awestruck child, which was probably for the best. He hadn't dared hope he would find a circus so soon after beginning his
search, let alone one with a dragon in it. He wanted to rush over and speak to the creature, to ask it how it came to be here and whether it knew of others of its kind, but he had to contain his excitement.

Trying to make himself sound slightly scared, he asked, ‘Can I see it?'

Griselda's smile faded from her face, but her voice was still kind when she spoke.

‘I'm afraid not, Errol. Only Master Loghtan can open up the dragon cage, and he rarely shows off old Magog between performances.'

‘Magog?' Errol nearly fell over when he heard the name.

‘That's him. Magog, Son of the Summer Moon. The greatest dragon who ever lived. They say he raised the Great Barrier Range of mountains, split Gwlad in two so that Llanwennog would be safe from the madmen to the south. Surely you must have heard the tale?'

‘Of course,' Errol hastily agreed. ‘But the version I was told was a bit different. And surely Magog's long dead. If he ever truly existed.'