Unexpected Magic (54 page)

Harry looked around and saw the open doors and the faces at windows. They embarrassed him. It was as if he and Lord Darron were a puppet show. And, of course, they could all be thinking (like the man at Arnforth) that he was mad. He turned and rode on quickly, calling out “Armed truce it is, sir,” over his shoulder. Lord Darron and Susannah followed, up a hill past the church, under wide bare chestnut trees, and into the black wood around the Endwait manor house.

The drawbridge was up, blocking the gateway. The moat was only frozen at the edges, so it could not be crossed except by the bridge. A thick and unfriendly looking man was leaning out of the window above the gateway, chewing something and watching them ride up.

“Lower the bridge, there,” called Lord Darron. “I have business with the steward.”

“What business?” asked the man, and spat what he was chewing into the moat.

Lord Darron was so much put out at this that he stammered. “Poor man,” thought Susannah. “He
is
as nervous as he looks. Not a very good St. George at all.” Then she had an inspiration. “Lord Darron,” she whispered, “say you want to lock us in the dungeon with Alex.”

Lord Darron looked at Harry. “But I—”

“Say it, sir. It will get us in.”

So Lord Darron cleared his throat and called out what his business was in a clear and threatening way, which made Susannah very nervous. She was afraid she had put ideas into his head. The man above growled and went away inside. After a good five minutes, they heard men talking inside the window and the drawbridge at last came clanking down. An old, ribby oak door beyond was pushed creaking open. Susannah shivered at the sight of the dark way in.

Lord Darron, as he moved toward the drawbridge, spoke to Harry—rather cleverly, Susannah thought—disguising what he said by singing it to a strange flat tune. “Have ready your strange weapon, my lord. We may need it, although I mistrust it much. There is a prophecy—tra-la-la—which has it that our realm shall be ended by outlandish weapons. Tra-dah-liddle-diddle-da.” The last part of the tune came echoing back at them, mixed with the ringing of hoofs as Lord Darron went in under the archway.

Susannah's pony, which distrusted the drawbridge as much as she did, scuttled over after him. Harry cocked his pistol again and came last on the creaking, clanking boards of the bridge. Inside, in the tiny courtyard, he found Lord Darron already talking to the steward.

The steward was a thick sulky man and, like the guard at the gate, he was chewing something, with his arms rudely folded.

“The drawbridge is down. You can ride out again, my lord,” he said.

“Not until we have seen the Prince,” said Lord Darron.

“You cannot see him.”

“I demand to.”

The steward sighed, not a polite sigh. It was meant to show that Lord Darron was a fool who was boring him stiff. “I cannot think what the Count was at, telling you of all people that the Prince is here. What do you think you are at, too, entering this manor on false pretences? You may not see the Prince. He is mad. Straw in his hair, see.” As he said that, the steward put both hands to his head, pointing upward and waggling his fingers. Susannah had never seen anything so rude.

“You abominable man!” she said.

“You are a low knave,” said Lord Darron. “Show me the Prince before I show you my sword with your blood on it.”

The steward grinned. “Show me what you like.” Then he looked up with a whistle and a nod. Soldiers and serving-men came running from doorways where they must have been waiting, carrying swords, carving knives, pokers, and axes. They stood round the three riders panting, looking up at them and grinning, for all the world, Susannah thought, like a pack of mongrel dogs who had treed three cats.

“Harry!” she said.

“Now,” said the steward, “my fine lord, you can ride back over yon drawbridge or there will be murder and maiming done.”

Lord Darron was looking completely helpless. Susannah was terrified. Harry knew that he would have to use his pistol. But he had only six bullets and he could not bear to kill, or even wound anyone.

“We are not going away,” he said, and he had to shout in order to make himself talk at all. “We do not leave until we see the Prince. Show us the Prince or I will shoot you all with this pistol.”

“Shoot!” said the steward sneeringly. “Pistol! Is that a sawn-off spade you have there, my lord?”

Harry was so angry with him that he raised the pistol and pulled the trigger. Susannah screamed—to encourage him, she said afterward. The bang was deafening in the tiny courtyard. Half the men dropped their weapons and backed away. The steward roared with pain and clapped his hand to his left ear. Harry was so angry that he hoped he had shot it off. In fact, he had only grazed it, but the sight of blood running between the steward's fingers was enough for most of the men.

“
Sorcery
!” they yelled, and ran clattering away through the archway and over the drawbridge.

A few of the soldiers stayed where they were. One or two pretended to smile, but when Harry swung the pistol around to point at them they turned and ran like rabbits.

Lord Darron reached down and caught the steward by the hair as he tried to run away too. Susannah admired him more than ever for that, because his horse was trampling this way and that in terror at the noise. “Not you,” he shouted. “You come with us. You have the keys.” He called out to Harry: “Shoot him again if he shows any sign of treachery.”

“I will,” said Harry. He dismounted and handed his reins to Susannah. Then he walked slowly and fiercely up to the steward with his pistol pointing at the man's terrified face. “Where is this dungeon? You go first, and if you dare attempt any treachery—”

Lord Darron landed beside him with a crash of plate armor. “Give the keys here, man.”

The steward unhooked a great bunch of keys and handed them to Lord Darron. Harry thought he had never ever seen a man so frightened as that steward. His face was yellow, like a candle, among the streaks of blood. And he agreed afterward with Susannah that Lord Darron showed not the slightest sign of fear.

They went down to the dungeon, and among their ringing footsteps Harry could hear the steward's teeth chattering. They let him unlock the first door. Susannah, who was expecting to find the dungeon beyond, was frightened and disappointed to find only more stairs.

“I will stay by this door,” said Lord Darron. “We do not want it treacherously bolted on us.” He stood leaning on the door, and Harry thought, from the way he could see the white of the steward's eyes, that this was just what the man had hoped to do. He dug him in the neck with the pistol.

“Go on.”

Susannah was horrified by the second door. It was so low and narrow and thickly barred. “Oh, poor Alex!” It was she who had to undo the chains and bolts, for Harry was guarding the steward. But there was a padlock she could not unlock, and Harry had to help her. The moment he moved, the steward ran away upstairs. Harry fired at him, wildly and dangerously, for the bullet hit the stone ceiling and bounced back almost in his own face. The steward screamed, and was suddenly quiet as he met Lord Darron's sword.

Inside the dungeon, they heard Harry fire. From there it was muffled and horrible.

“Alex,” said Everard, “if this is our last hour, I am sorry I said I disliked you. I do not think it was true.”

“We were just furious with one another,” said Alex. “How do they put people to death here?”

“Various ways. Nobility are beheaded. I shall insist they behead you too. You must not be hanged.”

Then the door opened and Alex saw the last people he would ever have expected to see: Harry Courcy leaning anxiously in with the pistol smoking in his hand, and Susannah picking up her skirts and jumping down into the dungeon. She ran up to Alex and flung her arms around him. Alex was so astonished that he looked at Everard and roared with laughter.

“Oh, Alex, dear! Have they hurt you?” Susannah said. “Are you all right? Why! You have a great bump on your forehead!” She let Alex go and marched up to Everard. “Did you hit him, you wicked, vicious boy?”

“Yes, my lady,” Everard said.

“Then you are a great cowardly bully! You are twice his size!” Susannah was shaking her fist. Alex was afraid she would hit Everard.

“Be quiet, Susannah,” he said. “You can say things like that to me if you like, but you have no business to say them to Everard. He is not a coward or a bully, and besides he must be related to you far back. He has an ancestor called Eleanor de Courcy.”

Harry jumped down into the dungeon too. “Really?” he said. “Five hundred years ago? The one who was said to be drowned in the quicksands? Are you Prince Everard? Then I am very pleased to meet you, Your Highness. We have a message from a lady—she must be your mother I think. She has gone to the nuns at Uldrim.”

“Praised be!” said Everard. “Then she cannot be married to Towerwood. Alex, I am so relieved.”

They all four milled about in the straw for a minute or so longer, Alex introducing the Courcys and the Courcys explaining why they came. And Alex found, in spite of his relief at being rescued, that he was not as glad as he might have been. “Now,” he thought, “the Courcys and Everard will get on together splendidly. They are the same kind of people. I shall be nowhere.”

Then he found Susannah looking up at him, in tears. “Alex,” she said, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me for all the horrid things I said to you. I did not mean them, truly. Ask your friend the Prince to forgive me too. I dare not.” Then she smudged at her face with her sleeve. “Have you a handkerchief, please?”

Alex gave her his own grubby handkerchief and Susannah sniffed miserably into it. He could hardly believe she had had a change of heart, but he tried to be kind to her. He was so unused to being nice to Susannah that he did not know where to begin. He settled for saying: “It does not matter, Susannah. I am sure Everard does not mind.”

Then the lordly Harry thumped him on the back. “Alex, we have been worried sick about you. I—I am so sorry for—that time. And we have not found Cecilia. Do you know where she is?”

“Alex,” said Everard, “let us climb out of this dungeon. We must find your sister—she could be still at Falleyfell—and I must see Robert, if he is to be found.”

Alex was astonished and pleased and ashamed of himself. Here had the Courcys come all this way to rescue him and he was not being grateful enough. Here they were both apologizing, and he was being gruff; and here he was expecting Everard to take to the Courcys when in fact they were all three of them deferring to him, as if he were a cross between their leader and their interpreter.

Lord Darron was standing in the doorway. “My lord,” he said to Everard, “will you climb out? This is a noisesome place for a Prince, whether he be mad or sane.”

“He is not mad,” Alex said. “That is Towerwood put that about. Nor do I claim the coronet. Everard understands that now. It was a mistake.”

Lord Darron smiled, blinked, and held down a hand each to Alex and Everard. “Come up, both of you. I never thought you claimed the coronet, sir. Your face is too honest.”

Alex and the Prince scrambled out of the dungeon past Lord Darron and stood smiling delightedly at one another. As Lord Darron was helping Susannah out, they both began talking at once.

“Darron, where is Robert, my cousin Howeforce? I want to—”

“Please, sir, have you any news of my sister?”

Lord Darron put Susannah gently down between them. “There, young lady. You have done famously for one so young. As to your questions, both of them have the same answer. Howeforce is defeated and flying for his life, I fear, together with the young lady. Towerwood is close after them. Indeed, he might have caught them by now.”