Wednesdays in the Tower (9 page)
“No,” Celie said. “Rufus and the Castle got rid of them.”
Rolf just shrugged. “We still have the Castle,” he pointed out. “And if we need to, I suppose you could summon a new Rufus!” He winked at her and said good night.
She went into her room, locking the door carefully behind her. Then she went up the wide spiral steps to Rufus’s new tower. He was savagely tearing apart one of his leather balls, but when he saw her he dropped it and came running. He looked like he’d grown during dinner, but he was still ungainly and nearly tore the hem of her gown in his exuberance.
“We already have a new Rufus,” she said aloud. “But I don’t know how much help he’ll be!”
Celie could not stop thinking about what Wizard Arkwright had said about the holiday feasting hall. Of course it had other purposes; it had never occurred to her before, but now it seemed quite silly to think that there was an enormous room in the Castle that existed only for one week a year.
But it reminded her of what she and Rolf and Pogue had talked about when the hall first appeared, and what Bran had said at dinner that same night, about where the rooms of the Castle were before they were in Sleyne. Celie couldn’t shake the feeling that the rooms were not only some
where
else, but with some
one
else.
Who had put the decorations in the boxes? Who had provided the food at the winter holidays? She’d always thought of it as just being “the Castle,” but what did that mean? Somewhere, in a distant, exotic place, was there a
kingdom where they had the other rooms of the Castle? Was there another throne room, another main hall … other towers … other kitchens?
She thought about the new kitchen, and the new stables. Had those other people used them until one day they were suddenly gone? Did they need the kitchen? The stables? Why had the Castle brought them to Sleyne, then?
Did these other people know about Sleyne?
She had been throwing a ball for Rufus up in his tower. She tossed it as hard as she could, so that it banged against the far wall, to give herself a moment to think. Was the Castle
stealing
from the other people for her family? Did it like them better, so it took away the others’ holiday feast every year? Took away their best rooms, their furnishings, their stockpiles of silk and velvet?
Why was it doing this?
Sensing that she was distracted, Rufus took his ball back across the tower and began tearing it apart. Celie finally roused herself and hurried over to him. He had his wings hunched up and was trying to hide beneath them. He’d ripped up two balls so far that week, and sometimes it took the Castle a couple of days to provide a new one. Besides, it was hard to clean up all the lamb’s wool stuffing and bits of leather.
“Give it to me,” Celie said, snapping her fingers at him. Rufus ignored her. “Come on, give it!”
She looked around and spotted another toy the Castle had sent. It was made out of fur and looked like a squirrel
that had been flattened. She ran over and picked it up, going toward Rufus with the flat squirrel in one hand. She clucked her tongue and shook the toy at him.
“Here, boy! Have Flat Squirrel! Flat Squirrel is funny! Let’s play with him!”
Rufus took one look at the thing hanging from her hand and stopped tearing up the ball. He backed away from her, cowering, making a weird whining noise.
“What’s the matter, Rufus?” She kept walking toward him, concerned now. “Come here, boy! What’s wrong?”
It dawned on her that his yellow eyes were fixed on the toy in her hand, and that was what he was backing away from. She put it behind her back, and he visibly relaxed. She tossed it behind a wicker chest that she kept his food and toys in, and he immediately bounded around her, clacking his beak happily.
“So, you’re terrified of mashed squirrels?” Celie was temporarily diverted from her disturbing questions about the Castle. “That’s interesting.”
Down the stairs in her bedchamber, she heard the door slam. She stiffened.
“Celie?”
“It’s just Bran,” she told Rufus, who had sensed her nervousness and let out a caw of alarm. “We’re up here,” she called down the stairs. She heard him make a muffled exclamation, and he started up the stairs. “This is the funniest thing; watch what happens if I show him that squir— You’re not Bran!”
She ended in a shriek, leaping backward as Pogue entered the tower with a stack of books in his arms. He froze for a moment, and then dropped the books with an oath when he saw Rufus. Rufus, for his part, extended his wings and let out a scream of rage at the intruder.
“What is that thing?” Pogue shouted. He looked like he was torn between defending Celie and running for his life.
“How did you get into my room?” Celie demanded.
“What? I came in through the door!” Pogue was still shouting. “But what is that thing?”
Now Pogue did take a few steps farther into the room and put his big, calloused hand on Celie’s shoulder, trying to tug her behind him and to the stairs. She didn’t budge, though, and Rufus let out another angry cry when he saw Pogue touching his beloved Celie.
“It’s okay, Pogue, it’s just a griffin,” Celie said, hoping to calm both Pogue and Rufus before someone heard Rufus’s cries. “Rufus, be quiet!”
“
Rufus
?” Pogue was still trying to move her away from the griffin. “You mean it came back? After it ate Khelsh?”
“No, he’s a new one. I hatched him from an egg. He’s not dangerous!”
Rufus kept on sounding what Celie guessed was some sort of griffin war cry, and he was either going to permanently deafen her or rouse the entire Castle. His fur stood on end, and his wings were still raised. She ducked under his left wing and ran to the wicker chest, retrieved Flat Squirrel, and held it aloft.
“Rufus! Be quiet!” Celie put all the command she could into her voice.
He turned, saw Flat Squirrel, and immediately cowered back.
She blew her sweaty hair out of her eyes. Then she waved the toy again. “Now, sit!”
Rufus sat.
“What is that thing?” Pogue asked.
“I told you, it’s a griffin,” Celie said, impatient.
“No, that thing in your hand. It looks like a dead squirrel,” he said with revulsion.
“Oh, it’s a … toy squirrel,” Celie told him. She put it behind her back before Rufus started whining. “Rufus is afraid of it, for some reason.”
“Oh.” Pogue sagged against the door that led to the stairs. “Now, please tell me: How long have you had a griffin, and why isn’t everyone talking about it?”
“No one knows except Bran,” Celie said. “And you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone, either.” She looked him in the eyes. “Promise me, Pogue. You have to help me protect him.”
“But Bran knows?”
“Bran knows.”
“All right, I promise,” he said. “But … you hatched it? Did you … sit on the nest?”
Celie sighed. She picked up Rufus’s ball and began to toss it for him again while she related the story of finding the egg. Pogue listened with his mouth slightly open, and
when she was done, he sank down on his haunches. He held out a hand to Rufus, who crept forward and nibbled at his fingers playfully.
“A griffin,” Pogue said in awe. “A real, living griffin.”
Rufus bit him.
“Ouch! Nasty little—”
“Rufus! Don’t make me get Flat Squirrel!”
Rufus decided to ignore Pogue and went to the far side of the tower to see if there was anything interesting in his food bowl. Celie bent down and picked up one of the books that Pogue had dropped.
“What is this?” It looked like a bestiary, a description of animals from all over Sleyne.
“Bran asked me to bring you these,” Pogue said. “I didn’t understand why, before. He told me to tell you to look for anything about ‘our friend’s family’ in them.” He pointed at the griffin, who was now drinking noisily, splashing water everywhere. “I still can’t believe you have a griffin in your bedroom. Well … in your tower.” He looked around. “Actually, I didn’t know you had a tower of your own. I don’t remember seeing this one before. Wouldn’t it be right above the main hall?”
“I don’t think you can see it from the outside,” Celie said, though it dawned on her that she hadn’t tried to look. “You shouldn’t have been able to come into my room, either. Bran put a spell on the door to turn people away.”
“Huh. Maybe it didn’t work because Bran is the one who sent me.”
“I suppose,” Celie said. “Or maybe the Castle is okay with people finding out about Rufus now.”
She looked around hopefully. The door at the top of the stairs swung shut, and she sighed.
“I guess not.”
Pogue looked alarmed. “Did the Castle just slam that door?”
“Yes,” Celie grumped. “It gets upset if I even hint about telling someone.”
“I’ve never actually seen the Castle do something …” Pogue’s voice trailed away. “Well, I suppose, with Khelsh and all that. But I have never seen it make something
move
.” He was now looking at the door with the same fixation that he’d given Rufus.
“It’s been very loud about what it wants and doesn’t want me to do with Rufus,” Celie said absently.
She had picked up the other books. In addition to the bestiary, there was a book of poetry and one of history. She remembered the poet that Wizard Arkwright had mentioned the night before, but couldn’t think of the name. It had been a foreign name, certainly not one from Sleyne.
“Pogue, what do you think of Wizard Arkwright?” Celie asked.
“He’s clearly very skilled, and very respected,” Pogue said, but he was scowling despite his diplomatic tone.
“You don’t like him, either?”
“No,” Pogue said, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. He’s
not here to help Bran, he’s here to check up on him, and I don’t know if the Council of Wizards knows it.”
“Why would he want to check up on Bran, then?” Celie was mystified. “Bran hasn’t done anything wrong. He hasn’t even been Royal Wizard long enough to do … anything.”
She felt disloyal saying it, but it was true. Bran mostly read books, and occasionally made up healing potions for people in the Castle or the village who needed something stronger than the local physician could provide.
“Maybe Arkwright wants to be the Royal Wizard,” Pogue said, shrugging. “Or maybe he wants to be the one to find out all the secrets of mysterious Castle Glower. It’s too early to tell.”
“What will we do?” Celie felt a cold lump in her stomach. She had enough to worry about already, and now this!
“Celie,” Pogue said, tearing his attention away from Rufus and getting a good look at her face, “it’s fine!” He gripped her arm with one large hand. “Don’t worry. Bran can take care of himself, and besides, so far Arkwright hasn’t done anything but be slightly rude at dinner. Maybe he’s just making sure Bran succeeds as the new Royal Wizard. Bran’s a little nervous about having him here, because Arkwright is one of the finest wizards alive. But he’s not worried about Arkwright trying to do something nefarious.”
“Nefarious?”
Pogue blushed. “It’s a good word,” he said, defensive.
“It
is
a good word,” Celie said.
She felt awkward, and it was plain that Pogue did, too. He took his hand off her arm and cleared his throat. He took the heavy stack of books from her and started to carry them down the stairs. It was almost too much for Celie to take in. Rufus, Wizard Arkwright, the strange behavior of the Castle, and now here was Pogue Parry, the village flirt and troublemaker, using words that Bran would use. Words that Bran would use, and that Rolf would then mock Bran for using.
But Pogue had been spending a great deal of time with Bran lately …
“Pogue,” she said, following him down the stairs. She snapped her fingers, and Rufus came at her heels. “What do you think about all these new rooms? Like the holiday feasting hall, just sitting there all the time. Where do you think they come from?”
Pogue put the books on her table. He stood with his back to her, flipping idly through the bestiary, and for a moment Celie wasn’t sure that he’d heard her. Then he turned around, and his face was grave.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I have a terrible feeling that if we don’t find some answers soon, things could get very, very bad.”