Wednesdays in the Tower (18 page)

“A griffin.”

“That
was
a griffin’s egg that I found, wasn’t it?” Queen Celina stood up, moving back and forth restlessly in front of her throne. “Where is the griffin that hatched from it? Do you know, Arkwright? Who stole it?”

The wizard sighed heavily. Then he turned and looked straight at Celie. She realized she had been so distracted by his eloquent eyebrows that she had never looked at the color of his eyes before. They were a pale golden-brown that reminded her of Rufus’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Princess Cecelia. But you must give back the griffin. It doesn’t belong here.”

Celie’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. She just stared into Arkwright’s strange golden eyes.

“What?” King Glower leaped to his feet. “Impossible! Celie couldn’t have stolen a griffin; where would she hide it?”

“Princess Cecelia,” Arkwright said, “tell us where you’re hiding the griffin. It has to go back.”

“Of course it has to go back,” King Glower said. “But it can’t have been Celie who stole it.” He turned to Bran. “Can you do some magic to locate it, or shall we bring in the soldiers to search?”

Celie’s gaze was still held by Arkwright. They were
facing each other across the throne room. Celie didn’t know what to do. Her legs were starting to shake and her feet and hands felt numb. He knew. He had seen her and Rufus, flying together. He knew that was the real reason she was collecting the things in the holiday feasting hall. But she hadn’t stolen Rufus, she hadn’t!

“Just run,” Pogue muttered.

“What?” Celie flinched. She’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. Even her father’s increasingly heated voice and Bran’s low murmur had faded. All she could see was Arkwright’s eyes.

“Give me the griffin, princess,” Arkwright said.

“Celie,” Queen Celina said.

Celie managed to move. She turned her head to look at her mother.

“May I see it?” Her mother’s voice was soft, her eyes wide with amazement. The question stopped King Glower, and Bran, and then everyone was looking at Celie.

“It’s not some prize-winning pig to be gawked at and stroked for luck,” Arkwright said. “It has to go back to the Glorious Arkower where it belongs! At once!”

Chapter
23

Celie didn’t need Pogue’s finger to jab her in the back, or to hear his soft curse. The look on Arkwright’s face was enough to urge her to run. She burst through the throne room doors and was across the main hall and in her room before anyone could react or begin pursuit.

In her room she locked the door and then dragged a heavy chair in front of it. She knew it wouldn’t stop a wizard, but at least it would buy them some time. She grabbed her heavy wool cloak from its hook and ran up the stairs to Rufus’s tower. She prayed that this one time she would find him, and not learn that he had gotten loose again and was now happily chewing Wizard Arkwright’s shoes.

But no—he was there, eating parched corn from his dish. He gave a glad cry when he saw Celie, and ran toward her. She sent up another silent prayer, this one of
thanks that, once again, she’d remembered to put on his harness after she fed him breakfast.

She fastened her cloak at her throat, shoved Flat Squirrel in the back of her sash where Rufus couldn’t see it, and undid one of the shutters. Rufus watched her with his head tilted to one side, clearly baffled by her rapid, jerky movements and the fact that she seemed to want to go flying in broad daylight. She actually had to cluck her tongue and coax him over to the window.

“Come here, Rufus! Come here, boy! Let’s go flying!”

She could hear someone pounding on her bedroom door, far below the tower room. Rufus heard it, too, and started to turn away from her. His wings were rising up above him like a shield, a sure sign that he was becoming agitated.

“Rufus! Don’t you want to go flying?”

The griffin turned back, unable to resist the call of the open window.

“Good boy,” Celie said, trying to keep the panic out of her words.

She grabbed the harness handles and heaved herself onto his back. He was now significantly taller than her old pony, though still narrower and bonier. She gripped both handles tight and squeezed his ribs with her knees.

“Let’s go!”

With a lunge and a swoop that nearly left Celie’s stomach behind, the girl and her griffin were out the window
and into the air above the Castle’s main hall in seconds. Rufus hovered for a moment, and Celie steered him toward the Spyglass Tower. She didn’t know where they would go after that; she just wanted to get Rufus out of the way. She’d never dreamed of leaving the Castle, leaving her family, but if Rufus was in danger …

She let him circle over the roofs of the Castle for a little while. They couldn’t see anything—at least, not of the people inside. But Celie noticed immediately that the Castle, which used to look like such a random collection of great rooms and towers and passages, actually seemed to have a pattern now.

There were six tall towers, evenly spaced. Two very large angular roofs at the front over what she knew were the main hall and throne room, and two at the back that she thought were the summer and winter dining halls. She could see the wide, slightly flattened roof of the holiday feasting hall right in the middle, and the rest of the Castle was evenly distributed around it.

“This is amazing,” she said to Rufus.

He squawked in reply.

When she guided him toward the Spyglass Tower, she saw that someone was there, hanging out a window. She started to pull on the harness to have Rufus fly away, but then she saw that it was Rolf. He was waving his arms at her, making broad gestures to try to get her and Rufus to come to the tower. With a sigh, she let Rufus fly toward
her brother. If Rolf could help her, maybe bring her some food for the journey, she and Rufus had a better chance of getting … somewhere safe.

“You have a griffin?” Rolf shouted the question as soon as they got close. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Look out,” Celie called to him instead of answering.

Rufus still had a little trouble landing, and there was the large brass spyglass mounted on the windowsill to contend with as well. Rolf leaped out of the way just as Rufus tucked up his long legs, folded his wings, and shot through the window to land awkwardly against the large table in the middle of the tower.

He let out a squeal of pain, and Celie jumped off his back to make sure he was all right. He had probably bruised his left shoulder, but there was not much she could do about it, so she just stroked his head until he calmed down.

“A griffin,” Rolf kept saying over and over. “A griffin! How … why … how long have you had a griffin?”

“Since he hatched. He’s three months old,” she said absently. She was looking around to see if any of the hard biscuits were left.

“Why’d you hide him from everyone? I mean, except Pogue and Bran.” Rolf’s voice was tinged with envy. “If you’re going to let
Pogue Parry
know, then why not me?”

“You were in my room when Rufus was kicking up a fuss in his tower,” she said. “But you couldn’t hear him. We took that to mean that the Castle didn’t want … well, wanted to keep Rufus hidden from as many people as possible. It
wouldn’t let me tell Mummy and Daddy. Bran and Pogue were the only ones.” She sighed again and picked at Rufus’s harness.

“Huh,” Rolf said, looking deflated. “I wouldn’t have told anyone, if you had asked me not to.”

“I know,” Celie assured him. “And I … well, I could have used more help! But the Castle—”

She stopped suddenly. There had been a funny twist at the back of her head that meant the Castle had changed something. She looked at Rolf, who ran one hand through his hair.

“Speaking of the Castle,” she said.

“Sorry. Headache,” Rolf said. “What about the Castle?”

“Did you feel a weird sort of twisting thing at the back of your head?”

“Yeah,” Rolf told her. “I get that sometimes. Anyway, Father says—”

“Rolf, that means that the Castle just moved something around.”

“It does?” Rolf looked stunned. “I never … noticed. I do have a lot of headaches on Tuesdays, but I thought it was just because I had to sit in the throne room listening to people complain about their taxes.”

“Pogue can’t feel it,” Celie said. “It must be something to do with the family.”

“That’s amazing,” Rolf said. “Not as amazing as that.” He pointed to Rufus, who was preening his gold feathers. “But still amazing.”

“I’m going to leave Rufus here, and we can go down,” Celie said, pushing aside her worries. She’d made up her mind: she couldn’t leave the Castle. “We should see what’s changed, and I … I guess I can’t run away from Arkwright forever,” she admitted.

“That’s what I was supposed to tell you,” Rolf said, looking guilty. “But, er, it’s hard to think when you’re standing next to a griffin. Can I touch him?”

“Yes. What were you supposed to tell me?”

“Just a minute,” Rolf said.

He held out one shaking hand to Rufus. Rufus stopped preening and looked at Rolf suspiciously. Celie nodded at Rufus to show him that Rolf was okay. Rolf very gently touched Rufus’s golden shoulder. He stroked the feathers with two shaking fingers, then touched a wing, then dared to stroke Rufus’s head.

“A real griffin,” Rolf said reverently. “Oh, Celie, he’s magnificent.”

“Thank you,” Celie said. She tapped Rufus’s beak with two fingers, seeing that he had a look in his eye like he might bite Rolf’s fingers. “But what were you up here to tell me?”

“Oh. Oh! You’ve got to come down,” Rolf said. He continued to stroke Rufus, growing bold enough to put his whole hand on the griffin. “Father and Mother want to talk to you … everyone wants to talk to you. And they want to see
him
. You named him Rufus, right? After your old lion?”

“Yes,” Celie said.

She gripped the harness strap by Rufus’s neck. Did she really dare take him down to the throne room? What about Arkwright?

“Pogue and Bran have sworn that they won’t let Arkwright lay a finger on Rufus,” Rolf assured her. “They stopped Arkwright when he ran after you, and then they told everyone the whole story. So Arkwright knows you didn’t steal anything; it’s clear that the Castle gave the griffin to you.”

“All right,” Celie said, still reluctant.

“The thing is, Cel,” Rolf continued, “we need to figure out what’s happening now. Why did the Castle give you the egg? Why is it doing what it’s doing?”

“I think it’s under attack,” Celie said, and surprised herself by how frighteningly right it felt to say that. “I think something’s wrong back in … what did Arkwright call it?”

“The Glorious Arkower.”

A little thrill ran through Celie. That was the name of the country the Hathelockes had conquered.

“Yes! I’m almost certain that’s the country the Castle is from.” Celie stopped. “Do you think that’s why we call it
Glower
?”

“I don’t know,” Rolf said, thoughtful. “But I bet Arkwright does.” His face was grim. “I think he knows a lot more about the Castle than he’s saying. And I want to know why.”

“Me, too,” Celie decided. She looped one hand through
the harness handle. “I’ll fly down to the main doors and go in that way.”

“Oh,” Rolf said. He gave Rufus a longing look. “All right.”

“I’d love to let you fly down with us,” Celie told him, feeling sorry that she couldn’t give her brother a ride. Flying was her favorite thing, and she knew that Rolf would love it. “But he’s not strong enough to carry two yet, and he won’t let anyone but me on his back, anyway.”

“If the Castle ever spits out another griffin egg …”

“You’ll have to get in line behind Pogue and Bran,” Celie said. “Well, maybe not Bran.”

“Maybe I can pull rank,” Rolf said with a grin. “See you down there.”

“See you,” Celie said.

She climbed onto Rufus’s back and guided him to the window. He had to scrunch up a little to get past the spyglass, and ended up throwing himself clumsily out the window. Celie bit back a little scream, and Rolf let out a surprised yelp, but Rufus soon had his wings extended and turned his fall into a glide over the rooftops. They circled once, for the sheer joy of flying, and then Celie steered him down to the courtyard.

The guards in the courtyard scattered. One of them actually threw down his spear and ran for the front gates. Celie saw his sergeant grab him by the collar and haul him back to his post. She waved to them cheerfully as she dismounted. Then she led Rufus up the wide steps and into
the Castle. The guards at the doors hurried to open them for her, bowing and staring.

“Nice pony,” one of them said.

Celie looked over and saw that, despite his pallor, he was grinning. She grinned back, and he shook his head and whistled in amazement.

Inside the main hall, Queen Celina rushed at Celie, startling Rufus. The griffin backed up, squawking, then pushed forward, giving a warning hiss.

“Rufus, no!” Celie hauled back on his harness. “No, this is my mother!”

“Darling,” Queen Celina cried, holding out a hand. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Mother,” Bran began.

“Oh, I know, I know!” Queen Celina cut him off. She was walking around Rufus, looking at him from all angles. “I know why you couldn’t tell us, but still! And you’ve done wonderfully well, caring for him! Look how beautiful he is!”