The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) (10 page)

“Wyverns, that’s all,” said Captain Dunnager. “Pay ‘em no mind, they’re only hoping for scraps.”

“They were right close a minute ago,” said Harold, grinning. “I never seen anything like it in my life!”

Despite Captain Dunnager’s reassurances, Amelia couldn’t help but shrink behind Harold as the biggest of the beasts thudded down on the railing within spitting distance of her. It was a far cry from the beautiful, vividly coloured illustrations of dragons that she’d seen in storybooks. Its leathery hide was a dull dark brown, its wrinkly dry skin scantly covered by tufty, disarrayed feathers on its head, neck, shoulders and claws. It looked more closely related to a vulture than a dragon. Amelia stared at the wyvern, horrified and speechless, and the wyvern stared back.

“Look, Amelia,” said Meg gently, as something small, brown and fluffy darted by over their heads, its cry a high-pitched keening, “there’s a baby one, too.”

Amelia did her best to swallow her fear. “Is that the mother, then?” she asked, pointing to the third of the wyverns, circling the crow’s nest at a wary distance, smaller than the monster crouched on the railing.

“No, that’s another young ‘un,” said Captain Dunnager. “About seven or eight years old, I reckon. Ma’s usually about somewhere, though.”

“Would you like to feed them?” Meg asked.

Harold nodded eagerly, beaming even brighter, though Amelia would scarcely have thought that possible.

Captain Dunnager grinned. “I keep a bucket of fish guts and the like for ‘em down below, lad. Run and see if you can find it.”

Amelia had never seen the butcher’s boy run so fast. Soon he came galumphing back with the bucket, the wyverns suddenly shrieking in excitement at the smell of it.

“Not on the deck, now!” the Captain warned. “Don’t want ‘em making themselves too much at home, do we? Toss some over the side.”

Harold threw a fish head overboard, and the biggest of the wyverns dropped like a stone after it, spiralling round to snap at it. Harold almost dived over the railings too, keen as he was to see. Made bold by the prospect of food, the two young wyverns came close, clamouring for the contents of the bucket. The youngest came right up to Harold, snatching food from his hand and scampering off across the deck with a weird burbling, trilling growl.

“I said
not
on the deck!” Captain Dunnager shouted, as the baby wyvern’s big brother almost knocked Harold off his feet. With a shriek, Amelia ducked the wyvern’s claws, the wind from its leathery wings buffeting her face. It settled on the railings, staring at her.

“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you!” said Meg.

Amelia backed away from the wyvern, gripping Harold tightly by the arm. The smallest wyvern came scampering across the boards, chirping insistently and hopping about at knee height as Amelia whimpered breathlessly and skipped back from it.

Harold threw another fish head, and the wyverns dived after it. Amelia breathed again. What horrible creatures. If the
Storm Chaser
demanded the sacrifice of a soul, why not a wyvern instead of a beautiful eagle?

With the bucket soon emptied, the wyverns retreated, and Harold turned his attention to Captain Dunnager, who had apparently promised to give him a lesson in sword fighting. In spite of everything, Amelia couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little at the way Harold tumbled from one excitement to another like a happy puppy. Thinking that she’d best stay out of the way of his lessons, she retreated to the cabin. There she lay stretched out on the bunk, leafing listlessly through the spell book Meg had lent her, gazing straight through the words and symbols. She still couldn’t stop thinking about the awful soulchamber. Stupid the fire sprite floated anxiously above her head, casting a dim yellow light that dimmed and flickered each time Amelia gave a dismal sigh. In the corner, the clockwork dragonette clinked quietly as it preened its gleaming golden wings. Amelia watched it: it had a melancholy air of surrender about it now, long since resigned to its confinement. Stupid had taken a dislike to it, evidently seeing it as a rival for his mistress’ affection, and harassed it from time to time, whirling about it in a shower of angry red sparks until Amelia scolded him to stop. Maybe she should set the poor thing free. She might be too late to help the eagle soul, but it would be easy enough to open the clockwork dragonette’s cage – flicking through the spell book she’d seen a verse that claimed to charm any lock that could be opened. She picked up the cage, but the sight of the dragonette’s delicately curved and pointed little claws stirred up the memory of it buzzing and whirring close overhead like some enormous wasp, and she changed her mind almost at once. Still, its jewel eyes looked so sad that she went above deck and found a place to hang up the cage, so that at least the poor creature could freely see the sky as the sun set. If only she could do as much for the eagle’s soul.

A couple of nights later Amelia stood at the railings, looking out into the starry sky. Her fear of the terrible drop had abated somewhat throughout the easy sailing they’d had so far, and she’d even begun to enjoy the fierce wind in her unbraided hair. She wondered where the family of wyverns had gone, and when they might come back. According to Harold, Captain Dunnager could summon them with a particular whistle, and had insisted on demonstrating the awful piercing noise to her. He’d learnt it well and the wyverns soon appeared at his call, but Captain Dunnager had to forbid him to use it, or the creatures would eat them out of house and home. Still, it would come in handy: the wyverns were a necessary part of her plan, after all. The cloud had cleared, the stars shone bright, and all around them she could see nothing but indigo sky and calm sea. Percival stood at the helm, indefatigable and motionless as a suit of armour on display, the
Storm Chaser
needing little work to keep it on course. Meg, Harold and Captain Dunnager had all long since retired, but Amelia waited on deck, consulting her spell book, the very picture of studiousness. On Meg’s recommendation, she’d been learning the symbols and syntax for written spells, and had begun to recognise a lot of magical writing. Checking that Percival still stood looking out ahead, Amelia crept away, down through the trapdoor. Armed with a mop and bucket, her spellbook clamped under her arm, she tiptoed down the corridor towards the heavy double doors of the soulchamber. Only the faint blue light of the strange lamp and the glow of the eagle soul behind dark glass lit the corridor, and she took care not to look too closely at her own self, for fear of seeing that eerie blue glow she had noticed before.

“Poor thing,” she whispered to the caged eaglet. “You didn’t ask to be here, any more than I did.” Careful to not make too much noise, she eased the bars slowly back, pausing now and then to listen. The heavy bars were the simplest task, and Amelia stopped to get her shallow breathing under control before she put on her rings. She cast a tiny light spell, setting it where it illuminated both the dials locking the soulchamber doors, and the pages of her spell book. The spell she needed was one that Meg hadn’t taught her yet, but in itself it seemed simple enough. The night before, in secret, she’d practised it on the lock to the deckhouse door. Encouraged by her success with that, she’d then wanted to try it again on the more difficult lock to the clockwork dragonette’s cage, but had been too afraid of it getting free, or of Meg catching her at it. The lock on the
Storm Chaser
’s soulchamber, more complex, only required more concentration. With enough time and effort, Amelia felt certain she could persuade any lock to open with this spell. Glancing between page and dials, she whispered, and gradually the lock began to answer: clicking, ticking in the dim light in the dark. Brow furrowed in concentration, Amelia kept up the rhythm of the ancient words, feeling the ache behind her eyes, the pressure in her head. Then, with one final click, all the pain and the pressure dissipated in a rush of relief. Amelia scarcely dared to believe it. Breathless, heart thudding wildly, she pulled on the handle of one of the double doors, and it swung open easily. In the corner of the soulchamber, the eagle soul flinched and looked up.

“It’s all right,” Amelia whispered to it. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll be free in just a few moments.” And by the time Captain Dunnager knew of the eagle soul’s escape, it would be too late. He would be forced to find some other way to power his skyship. With the wyverns being regular visitors, and so easily lured with scraps, one of them would surely be ideal…

The eagle soul ruffled its feathers in agitation, shuffling round to better look at Amelia as she picked up the mop and bucket. The white line came up easily enough with a bit of scrubbing, its eerie light dimming as she worked round from the floor to the walls and across the ceiling. She hoped that it would be enough to simply remove the line: even with the aid of her book, she couldn’t properly make sense of the sigils accompanying it. Meanwhile, as the caged soul sensed its imminent freedom, it grew more and more agitated, the blue fire of it flaring brighter in the gloom, ghostly feathers rustling and crackling with the sound of leaping flames. Amelia, afraid up until now of her plan being uncovered and Meg or the Captain putting a stop to it, began to feel a different sort of fear in the heat and confines of the corridor. She had tried her best to decipher all the symbols written on the soulchamber’s doors, but there had been quite a few she couldn’t make head nor tail of. Only as she stood there with mop in hand did she begin to worry that she could have missed something vitally important… Captain Dunnager
had
said that it was safe to open the soulchamber whilst in flight, hadn’t he? But only for a short time. Perhaps she should lock it up again. It probably wouldn’t matter that the white line was missing – the heavy doors and the locks would be enough, and then she could try again while the skyship was grounded safe on a beach again somewhere…

But it was too late for such thoughts. The eagle screamed. It gathered itself, launched straight at her. With a squeak of fear, Amelia flattened herself against the wall, the unearthly blue flames rushing past her, hot and damp as breath on her skin. The eagle wheeled about in the narrow space of the corridor, wings spread and all of a sudden much bigger than she remembered. She shrank from the wicked hook of its beak, its ear-splitting screams. At the top of the stairs, the hatch flew open, a shaft of moonlight shining in bright clear and cold. The trapped soul barrelled towards the night sky like a man freeing himself from the wreckage of a sinking ship might flee to the surface of the water. In the next instant, it was gone from sight, and Amelia heard someone swear out loud on deck.

“Amelia?” – that was Meg’s voice, fearful and uncomposed – “Where are you?”

Amelia made for the hatch, realising as she did so that for the first time since the
Storm Chaser
had ascended, her footing was less than steady. “Here! Down here!” she called back, and regretted it when she saw Meg’s face looking down at her: never had she seen such fury in anybody’s eyes as when Meg caught sight of Amelia with the spell book clutched to her chest, caught red-handed coming from the empty soulchamber.

“You did this?” Meg growled.

Amelia shrank back, but not before Meg grabbed her by the wrist, pulling sharply. “Ow! Let go! You’re hurting me!” Amelia resisted, but the new slant to the staircase worked more to Meg’s advantage than hers. Amelia found herself lying flat along the stairs, looking up and out into the night, at a horizon dizzyingly askew, clouds rushing up past them as they plummeted towards the sea.

“Get out from there, you stupid girl!” Meg shouted. “I need to –”

“I can’t allow you to do that, Madam,” said Captain Dunnager, scooping Amelia up under one arm, whisking her across the horribly tilted deck to deposit her in the relative safety of the deckhouse. He came back a moment later carrying the indignant Meg in the same fashion, where she kicked at the air and bit the Captain’s well-muscled forearm, to little effect. He locked the door behind him while Meg hammered on it with both fists, apparently forgetting her magic in her anger. Then she swore at the top of her voice, and the lock exploded like a New Year’s fireworks display, blasting the door outwards into the night.

“
That
, my girl, is how a real witch deals with troublesome locks!” she shouted at Amelia, and stomped off back towards the soulchamber.

The angle of the deck was becoming less steep, the rush of clouds past them slowing. Nevertheless, Amelia crawled across the deck, only getting to her feet when she was absolutely certain that it was level once more. The clockwork dragonette, miraculously still in its cage on the hook, scolded at her as she passed it.

“
Amelia!
” Meg shouted from below the deck, “Get down here this instant!”

Reluctantly, Amelia descended the stairs into the dark narrow corridor that led to the
Storm Chaser
’s soulchamber.

There, Captain Dunnager lay sprawled in front of the soulchamber door, his eyes open but sightless, his long limbs twisted unnaturally in the position he had fallen in. Amelia gasped in shock. In the unnatural light of the soul chamber, his body was dark and lifeless.

The light of Meg’s soul burned furiously bright from her eyes. “See what you’ve done? He’s had to give up his own soul because of you!”

“Is he… Is he…”

“He’ll be fine as soon as I sort out this mess you’ve caused, but he won’t thank us for leaving his body lying around like this. Percival! Harold!”

The two men came down into the corridor and took Captain Dunnager’s unresponsive body away to his cabin, taking care not to be seen looking at either Meg or Amelia. Amelia went to follow them, but Meg pulled her back.

“Not so fast, missy – you’ve got some explaining to do. For starters, what exactly did you think would happen when you let the ship’s soul out?”

Amelia’s cheeks blazed with humiliation. She’d known there would be consequences to freeing the
Storm Chaser’s
captive soul, but she hadn’t expected anything so…
drastic.
She’d expected the skyship to remain aloft, becalmed by the sudden loss of its power. She’d thought that perhaps the skyship
would be forced to harness the wind the old fashioned way with its blue and white striped sails – what else were they there for, if not to aid the soul in propelling the skyship onward? “I thought it would only slow us down,” she muttered. “I don’t want to go on this wretched quest anyway.”

Meg stared at her, incredulous. “You thought a stonking great boat like this would stay up in the air without any magic? Or did you think it would just float down to the sea all serene and graceful?”

“Yes, that,” said Amelia, grasping at the option which seemed the less foolish. “The second one.”

“You stupid girl! Give me back those rings.”

Amelia handed the conjuring rings over meekly. “Does this mean…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no! Don’t go thinking you can wriggle out of your duty so easily. You can have your rings again when I judge you’re ready for them. Not that I judged well in the first place, clearly… In the meantime, stay out of my sight!”

~

For days, Amelia was too ashamed to do anything
but
stay out of Meg’s way. The
Storm Chaser
became a kind of ghost ship in the wake of her act of sabotage. From within the dark windowless soulchamber, Captain Dunnager could keep her steady and on course effortlessly, and her wheel turned without visible intervention while Meg tended to the Captain’s vacant physical body. He lay in the cargo hold in a deep unnatural sleep: never stirring or turning; scarcely breathing. Percival, no longer needing to take his turn at the wheel, took to spending a great deal of time teaching Harold how to sword fight, the pair of them avoiding Amelia’s company. The realisation that even Harold and Percival were unwilling to stand by her made Amelia realise the seriousness of what she’d done, even more than their terrifying plunge towards the sea. To make matters worse, the wyverns seemed to sense a difference in the skyship, and even if they couldn’t understand exactly what it was, it troubled them. They flocked closely around the
Storm Chaser
, howling dismally. Whether they missed the eagle soul or worried over Captain Dunnager’s well-being, Amelia couldn’t begin to guess, but either way it was just as awful. Shunned by her companions and shamed by the distressed wyverns, she headed back down to the soulchamber. She stood a while at the barred and locked double doors, sure that Captain Dunnager would sense her there. Behind the dark glass she could see a blue-white glow, like that of the eagle soul, but she dared not look any closer.

“I really am very sorry,” she said, head bowed, timid as a mouse. If she’d realised how badly the skyship would need a soul to replace the one she’d set free, she would gladly have offered herself up as a replacement. “You will be able to go back to your body, won’t you?” She’d first gone to the cargo hold where his physical body lay, still and senseless, but as she’d stared at it she’d realised just how empty and useless it was without his soul.

“When we land.” Captain Dunnager’s voice seemed to reverberate from all around her, from the very walls of the corridor and the boards beneath her feet. “And when I can get a new soul. Not a cheap thing, a soul,” he added reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” said Amelia again. “I don’t have much money, but what I have I’ll gladly give you.”

“Your Ma warned me there’d be danger on this journey,” he said. “I didn’t think she meant from you.” As with Percival, Amelia couldn’t be sure but she sensed she was being laughed at. Under the circumstances, she tried hard not to take offence.

“I wish she’d just left me in peace in Springhaven. I was happy with my books and my knitting and… And the Black Queen wouldn’t have come chasing after me if it wasn’t for Meg.”

“Books and knitting?” That time, Amelia knew for sure that the Captain laughed, the sound of it bouncing around the cramped and gloomy corridor, tingling under her feet. “You sound like an old woman – good thing Madam Meg
did
come along and shake you out of your cobwebs, I reckon!”

Amelia glowered at the heavy double doors, and without another word turned and stomped off. Horrible.
Horrible!
Calling her an old woman just because she liked a quiet life; liked dragons and witches to keep to the pages of storybooks where they belonged…