free fantasy serial

Episode 7

The Wonders of Vale: 5

by

Ashdown Castle was gone.

Believe me, I checked thoroughly. I don’t know where I thought Zareen might have managed to hide a huge medieval castle-manor on an open beach, but I trawled up and down the sand anyway, twice over, before I was prepared to concede that it really wasn’t there.

This was good, for it meant (hopefully) that Zareen had succeeded in finding a better, permanent home for the place. Considering its weight, it really shouldn’t have been left any longer on sandy ground.

It was bad because that meant Zareen and George were nowhere within reach.

So much for our easy (maybe) link to Miranda.

We made a slightly forlorn group for a moment there, Emellana and Jay and Adeline and I, faced with the utter absence of an entire castle, and our friends with it.

Well, Jay and I did. Adeline attempted to eat a crab, and swiftly regretted it. Emellana maintained an enigmatic silence.

‘I suppose Melmidoc might know something,’ I offered, half-heartedly.

‘Do you think Zareen was much in contact with him?’ said Jay.

‘Not really.’ Zar wasn’t the type for dutiful check-ins, especially with someone she would consider wholly uninvolved with her business, and therefore irrelevant. ‘But it’s somewhere to start. Even if he doesn’t know, he can help. I mean, where would Miranda go, if she’d stayed here?’

‘Wherever the rarest magickal beasts are,’ said Jay promptly.

‘Right. And Melmidoc would know that, for sure.’

‘You are trying to find a colleague?’ said Emellana.

 I grimaced. ‘Ex-colleague.’

Emellana’s raised brow invited elucidation, which I provided. It made for a surprisingly brief story.

‘Why do you need her?’ said Emellana, gazing thoughtfully over the sea.

‘We don’t,’ I said, with a ferocity that surprised even me.

Jay gave a slight cough. ‘Milady insisted upon it.’

‘And you always do what Milady requires.’

‘Not… always,’ honesty compelled me to admit. ‘But mostly. And she is right about Miranda’s expertise. If we find griffins or unicorns, we may be glad of her presence.’ Maybe.

Emellana said nothing. Her silence proved more eloquent than any counter-argument might have been.

I watched her for a moment. Her serenity was… slightly unnerving. I mean, here we were on the mythical fifth Britain, a place even the Court at Mandridore had known nothing about until recently. A place overflowing with magick, brimming with all the lost arts and artefacts and beasts we could only dream of. I was itching to get off the isle of Whitmore, at last, and explore what lay on the mainland beyond the sea. Jay, I knew, was feeling the same.

Emellana Rogan, however, was… unimpressed. She stared out over the sea as though it were just a sea, any sea, and not teeming with magick and probably full of selkies and mermaids and naiads and… ooh, what if there were mermaids down there?

There could be.

‘Jay! Do you think there are mermaids in those waters?’ I said.

He gave me the side-eye. ‘No idea. Let’s pop down and check.’ He started to remove his boots.

I grabbed his arm. ‘Not now. Later.’

His eyes grew wide. ‘You’re actually serious.’

‘Weren’t you? Oh.’ Abashed, I folded my arms, and attempted to mimic Emellana’s cool, wordless stare over the water. A balmy sea-breeze blew back my hair. ‘I knew that.’

Jay grinned. ‘Do you want to try the stocking trick or not?’

‘The wha— oh.’ In the bustle and confusion of departure, I’d managed to forget about Miranda’s stocking. I dragged it out of my pocket, and cast about for the pup.

She was thirty metres up the beach, snout down in the sand, digging furiously.

‘Hey, she’s found something,’ I said, and set off after her at a trot.

Jay followed after. ‘Imagine what it could be. A gold crown studded with jewels. A priceless gemstone Wand. A cache of selkie’s pearls.’

‘Now you’re teasing me,’ I said with dignity.

He laughed. ‘Someday, one of your wild ideas will turn out to be true, and you’ll have the last laugh.’

‘Not this time,’ I said mournfully, for having scooped up the pup (to her loudly-voiced dissatisfaction) I discovered her unearthed treasure to be… a coin.

I picked it up. ‘They’re still using shillings,’ I said, showing it to Jay. It was bright and new, and obviously had not spent long buried in the sand.

‘No new money? Interesting.’ Jay stuck it in his pocket. ‘About ten thousand more of those and we’ll be rich. Good job, Goodie.’

I attempted to interest my writhing little friend in Miranda’s stocking, but her response to it was to sneeze heartily, three times in quick succession. I set her down in the sand, hoping she might take off in pursuit of our missing ex-colleague, but she only sat on her haunches, ears drooping.

‘To be honest, I’d probably react the same way,’ said Jay.

‘Her pure little heart beats only for filthy lucre,’ I said with a sigh, and put the stocking away again.

Emellana joined us at a casual stroll, her large hands pushed into her coat pockets. It was a little nippy on the beach. ‘We appear to have an imminent visitor,’ she said, and pointed up the cliff.

Poised upon the edge was a familiar, pale spire, its walls twinkling faintly blue. ‘I suppose it was too much to expect we could show up here without Melmidoc finding out about it,’ I said.

‘Especially if we park the car right next door,’ said Jay.

‘There is that.’ The spire loomed far up there, an obvious summons. Was he coming down, or were we expected to go up?

I waited, but the spire did not move again.

‘Righto, then,’ I said, and trudged off in the direction of the winding path upwards. ‘Let’s find out what Melmidoc knows about the Vales of Wonder and the Something Mountains.’

The spire’s heavy door swung slowly inwards as we approached, with an ominous creaking noise.

I don’t know why I found this essentially inviting gesture intimidating.

‘Good morning, Mr. Redclover,’ I said, extra brightly to cover my unease. ‘We—’

You took them all away, Melmidoc thundered, cutting me off. Is that not what you promised?

‘What?’ I blurted, taken aback. ‘Who? You don’t mean… Ancestria Magicka?’

The interlopers, and their inappropriately sized conveyance.

‘The castle’s gone now,’ said Jay helpfully. ‘We checked.’

And its occupants? said Melmidoc.

‘Do you mean George?’ I suggested. ‘He stuck with Zareen, but only to get the castle moved. They should both be—’

Who in the blazes is George? thundered Melmidoc.

I suppose that answered my question as to whether Melmidoc knew what had become of Zareen.

‘Who have you seen?’ I said.

That woman.

‘More specifically?’ My thoughts went to Zareen first, then Miranda. Neither seemed to deserve such an epithet.

About her, there is the arrogance of a born leader.

Definitely not Zareen or Miranda. ‘You cannot mean… Fenella Beaumont?’ I said.

Emellana stiffened beside me. ‘That woman.’

My thoughts whirled. We had heard of her only once, since we’d turfed the lot of them off Whitmore. On that one occasion, she had recently made a wreck of poor Millie Makepeace.

Since then, nothing. She’d vanished. If I had given the matter much thought, I’d probably assumed she and her rotten followers were busy finding a new base of operations.

Perhaps not.

‘Just when did the castle disappear?’ I said around a growing feeling of foreboding.

Ten days ago, said Melmidoc. And you have not yet answered my question.

‘I didn’t hear a question, I heard a deal of shouting.’

Why are they returned? You claimed we were rid of them!

‘I doubt I said anything so foolish, considering we are in no way in control of their actions.’ I spoke rather absently, my mind turned upon Zareen and George and Ashdown Castle. Had they removed it, or had Fenella somehow reclaimed it? ‘Where was Fenella, when you saw her? What was she doing? Who did she have with her?’

She and three souls, Melmidoc began.

‘Oh, so only four of them, that isn’t bad—’

Four is four too many! he snapped.

‘Sorry.’

She and three souls, he said again. Skulking about the beach at night, as though we would not know!

‘What did you do?’ said Jay.

Repelled them.

I did not like the way in which he said this, suddenly cool where before he’d been ablaze with wrath. ‘Um,’ I put in. ‘What does repelling Ancestria Magicka involve?’

They are in one of the other Britains now.

‘One of them? You don’t know which?’

It is immaterial.

I swallowed. ‘Right. And was this before or after the castle vanished from the beach?’

After.

So it could still have been either Fenella or Zareen who was behind that little event. I was prepared to hope it was Zareen. What was Fenella doing “skulking” around on the beach, if she’d already retrieved her castle?

I made a mental note not to get on Melmidoc’s very bad side. We were on his somewhat bad side already; any more, and we’d be expelled to some other Britain in Fenella’s wake. Which one was she on? Was it one that had banned all magick, or one of the ruined ones?

‘We are very sorry,’ I said hastily. ‘We did not imagine she would find the means to return so soon.’

So soon? You knew it was likely to occur eventually?

‘She’s tenacious. It would take more than an ignominious banishment and a dose of amnesia to put her off.’

Perhaps a second ignominious banishment will be sufficient.

I privately thought not, supposing she managed to return from whichever Britain she was now skulking about on.

‘Do you know how she got here?’ said Emellana.

Madam, I believe we are unacquainted.

I sighed inwardly. Melmidoc was ever irascible.

‘So we are,’ said Emellana mildly. ‘I am Emellana Rogan, scholar and Lady of the Court on the sixth Britain.’

‘New Court,’ I put in quickly. ‘Not Farringale.’

Emellana raised a brow at me.

‘Melmidoc has a few issues with the Old Court,’ I supplied.

I felt him glower. I cannot bid you welcome, madam, said he waspishly. You are uninvited.

‘It was quite rude of me,’ Emellana agreed. ‘There is some urgency about our errand.’

I rubbed at my eyes. Was that a headache coming on, already? ‘Em, Melmidoc Redclover died about four centuries ago. Before that, he was one of the most visionary magickers of his age. He and his brother built this place, and pioneered the kind of advanced Waymastery that permits travel back and forth between Britains.’

Emellana made a kind of bow. ‘An honour.’

Your errand? said Melmidoc. Still waspish, but, perhaps, slightly mollified.

‘We seek the Vales of Wonder,’ said Emellana.

There was a pause. To what end? said Melmidoc at length.

Emellana looked at me.

Here was the tricky part. How to tell Melmidoc that we were in pursuit of the last king of Farringale? He could hardly welcome such news. He’d spit, and snarl, and refuse to help. I’d have to handle him delicately, manage him very carefully, turn a deaf ear to his sarcastic commentary…

Ah, screw it.

‘We’re looking for the last king of Farringale,’ I said.

Turn page ->

Episode 7

The Wonders of Vale: 4

by

‘Wow, Millie,’ I said, and whistled. ‘You. Look. Fine.’

When Alban had promised to see Millie Makepeace — or rather, the two-hundred-year-old farmhouse she haunted — appointed a royal residence, I’d taken it as a convenient bribe. The circumstances at the time had been a trifle pressing, after all. Apparently he’d meant every word, for Millie had been sumptuously refitted.

I mean, her exterior walls were much improved: window frames repainted, glass and doors replaced, stonework repaired, that kind of thing. But the house was still an ordinary, modestly-sized farmhouse.

Inside was a different matter. Upon walking into her parlour, I received an eyeful of polished mahogany parquet floor strewn with plush rugs; handsomely wainscoted walls; long windows fitted with silken drapes; and an array of elegant (and to my semi-expert eye, authentic) eighteenth-century furniture. The best kind. Ornate couches, gilded and upholstered in pale blue damask. Mahogany side-tables with scrolly bronze carvings. A towering, polished cabinet bearing a vast, elaborate mirror. Etc.

The works.

‘Fit for a queen,’ Jay agreed, smiling at me. He sat ensconced in a pretty, curved-back chair upholstered in silvery damask, the pages of Torvaston’s book open on his lap.

Am I not? agreed Millie happily. Her Majesty herself sat in that very-same chair, Mr. Patel!

‘Clearly I’ve chosen the best, then,’ Jay said.

Emellana Rogan sat in a matching chair on the other side of Millie’s majestic, carved fireplace. It was lucky the house had been refurbished for use by the Troll Court, I thought, as the furniture was all suitably sized up to accommodate their greater proportions. Ms. Rogan would be in no way inconvenienced — and neither would the chairs.

‘Any luck?’ she said.

I retrieved the stocking and waved it briefly in the air. ‘Best we could do. Where’s pup?’

Emellana gestured at her lap, and I drifted closer. Pup was curled up there, fast asleep. So dwarfed was she in contrast to Emellana’s size, I hadn’t noticed her.

To my shame, I experienced a momentary stab of pure jealousy. What was Goodie doing sleeping with adorable, puppy trust all over someone who wasn’t me? Or Jay?

Still, she looked happy and so did Em, so I swallowed the feeling. Unworthy, Ves.

‘Checklist,’ I announced. ‘One pup with improbable gold-sniffing powers: check. One Lady of Mandridore with improbable magick-sniffing powers: check.’

‘One unreasonably talkative but conveniently knowledgeable book: check,’ said Jay, and I spotted the purple-clad form of Mauf lying by his chair.

‘Unreasonably?’ said Mauf, in a dangerous tone.

‘Conveniently, wittily, superbly talkative,’ Jay amended.

Mauf riffled his pages, and slammed shut his front cover with a theatrical puff of dust.

Jay suppressed a grin. ‘One set of incomplete kingly notes on the sources of magick: check.’ He tapped the paper in his lap.

‘Wands?’ I said. ‘Geniusware from our favourite eccentric?’

‘Double check,’ said Jay.

I looked at Emellana, who nodded serenely. I looked forward to seeing what kind of a Wand she carried.

‘Great. Fabulously expensive scroll-case etched with map of destination?’

‘Check,’ said Jay again. ‘I’ve put it with Mauf.’

Not a bad idea. I wasn’t sure if Mauf could absorb maps the way he could absorb text, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Just in case we were careless enough to lose a scroll-case that must be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds.

I shuddered inwardly at that thought, and swiftly reminded myself that the map was actually the valuable part.

‘Dangerously beautiful moonsilver lyre?’ I said.

Jay developed a guarded look. ‘I’ve got it.’

‘Where?’

‘You don’t need to know that right now.’

Fair enough. ‘Unicorn-summoning pipes…’ I began, and then frowned. ‘Wait. Can I summon Adeline from a different Britain?’ I was staring, for some reason, at Jay.

‘How the hell should I know?’ Jay said.

‘Fair. Sorry. Hang on.’ I left the house again, fished out my silver syrinx pipes, and blew an airy melody upon them. I mean, I’m usually a fan of the Trial and Error approach, but this was one occasion where it had to be a bad idea. What if we got there and I found Addie couldn’t hear me from all the way over wherever-the-fifth-Britain was? Or couldn’t reach me?

Would the absence of one unicorn make or break the mission? Probably not, but who wanted to risk it when you were working for the queen?

Not me. And Milady had specifically recommended taking Addie along.

Addie arrived on foot, this time (on hoof…?). She came trotting between two of the great, ancient oaks that line our driveway, head held high, silvery mane streaming in the wind. The balmy sunshine of early June glittered charmingly off her pale, coiled horn.

She came right up to me and shoved her face into my chest. Bump.

‘Should I be calling you Ylariane?’ I said, running my fingers through her silky mane. I’d recently learned that to be her true name — or at least, one of them. Apparently she was a venerable old lady; who knew how many friends she’d made, or how many names she’d been given, in all that time? Ylariane was her name among the Yllanfalen. Pretty. Ethereal. Fitting.

I couldn’t get used to it.

‘Addie,’ I said decisively. ‘I haven’t got any chips for you. Let me be up front about that right now.’

Adeline snorted, most inelegantly.

‘And,’ I went on. ‘In a minute I’m going to make you walk through a human-sized door into a perambulatory Royal Troll Residence and sit tight while we fly through the aether into Elsewhere. You okay with all that?’

My favourite unicorn sneezed on me.

‘Great!’ I said heartily. ‘Let’s go.’ I took hold of a section of her mane and wandered doorwards. Addie placidly followed after — until we came to the door, which Millie invitingly opened for us. There she stopped.

‘Please?’ I wheedled. ‘It’s nice in here. Fit for a unicorn-friend-of-kings. Come on.’

Addie gave me the kind of flat stare that heralded immediate doom. I pictured myself nicely diced into bite-sized cubes, and swallowed.

‘Righto. Second, then.’

I made a call. ‘Val? Logistical problem here. Can you get hold of the kitchens for me?’

Ten minutes later, Addie’s chips arrived. I’d pictured maybe a bowl full, but the kitchens had sent an enormous tub of them. There must’ve been three kilos, at least.

I stole one. Fresh, crisp and hot.

Perfect.

‘Thanks,’ I beamed at the obliging kitchen staff: two bright young things, both too obviously thrilled at experiencing a real unicorn sighting. They retreated a ways, and stopped.

Well, okay. I didn’t really want to do this with an audience, but given the promptitude with which they’d delivered Addie’s snacks, I hadn’t the heart to dismiss them. Let them witness my humiliation if they must.

‘Miss Adeline,’ I said, backing up quickly towards the door. Addie’s nose was already twitching; she’d caught the scent. ‘Every single chip in this tub is yours if you follow me through that door.’ I thought a moment, and in all honesty had to add: ‘Almost every chip. One or two are mine.’

Addie drifted towards me, as though drawn against her will. I quickened my steps, unwilling to become the splattered victim of an out-of-control-unicorn charge, and almost fell over Millie’s lintel.

Jay caught me from behind. ‘Steady. If you must drop the chips, at least drop them all over the floor in here, not out there.’

‘You know what? Great idea.’ I tipped up the tub, letting a stream of chips fall all over the threshold. The rest I strewed all over the beautiful parquet in the short hallway beyond, and then through the parlour.

Addie, wonderful girl, dipped her head and went through the fallen chips like a lawnmower. With a brief helping hand from Jay, she was through the door and storming the hall, devouring chips at the rate of at least eight per second.

Jay slammed the door behind her. ‘Go!’ he called.

Where to, good ladies and gentlemen? Millie had apparently had a manners upgrade, too.

‘Whitmore!’ I said, abandoning the tub to Addie’s predations. ‘Melmidoc’s Whitmore, please.’

Departing in twelve seconds, said Millie brightly.

And with a stomach-dropping whoosh, an unpromising rumble of stonework, and a little light chamber music, off we went.

I… am sinking, said Millie shortly afterwards.

‘What?’ I leapt up from my involuntary recumbent posture on the parlour floor, and dashed to the window.

Beyond it I saw the bluish-grey expanse of an English sea, and… well, that was it.

‘Millie, how close to the water are we?’

I was aiming for the top of the cliff, said Millie, without quite answering my question.

‘And what happened?’

I missed.

Jay joined me at the window. ‘Can you jump again?’

Jump, Mr. Patel?

‘You know.’ Jay made up-and-over gestures. ‘Travel again. Up a bit.’

I whirled about and ran down the hall. As I’d feared, water was beginning to seep under the door. ‘Millie, you need to move. Now.’

 I am tired! Make me stop sinking!

‘We cannot, but you can. Come on, Millie.’ The house was beginning to lean, slowly but surely, to one side as it sank. ‘I know this is hard for you, but—’

Ohh, said Millie, cutting me off. She had gone in an instant from half-panicked whining to… purringly appreciative. Very good, thank you.

Bemused, I went back into the parlour. Jay was hastily scooping up Mauf and the scroll-case and moving them farther away from the windows and doors; Addie huddled against the far wall, her rump bumping the mahogany sideboard, sniffing sadly at the empty chip tub; and Emellana leaned casually against one wall, watching my unicorn with a smirk of amusement.

‘Millie?’ I said. ‘What?’

Emellana gently patted the wall, and Millie said: Just a little more…

I raised an eyebrow in Emellana’s general direction.

‘She needed a boost,’ she said, as though that explained everything.

‘What did you do?’

‘Supplied it.’

What had she done, applied some kind of magickal jumpstart to a… house?

Apparently, yes, for the farmhouse lurched and shifted, and with a horrible sloshing, sucking noise of loosened sand and swirling saltwater, we rocketed off the beach and upwards.

Too fast.

I clutched at the nearest sofa, waiting for a crashing sound and a sickening impact as we collided with the cliff face.

There came a crunch and a grinding noise, and the house tipped sideways, sending the lot of us sliding abruptly left.

‘Millie!’ I yelled as I hit the wall with a thud.

Sorry! She trilled.

We tipped back to the right. I collided, somehow, with Jay, and the pair of us went tumbling down.

I spared a moment’s fervent prayer that Adeline wouldn’t be joining us down there.

Whitmore Cliff! Millie announced, with enviable serenity.

 ‘Thanks,’ I groaned, and peeled myself off Jay. Back on my feet, I took a brief inventory of my wounds.

A few things hurt, particularly my left shoulder where I’d hit the wall. I flexed and turned; nothing was broken.

Right, then.

Jay was vertical; Emellana, too, who still held my pup in her capable hands. All appeared sound, so I turned my attention to Adeline.

‘You deserve another vat of chips after this,’ I told her as I coaxed her up from the floor. ‘But you shan’t have one, or you’ll be as fat as a barrel.’

Adeline whinnied and stamped, head tossing, eyes wild.

‘…I think I’d better get her out of here,’ I decided, nimbly avoiding her kicking hooves.

‘Post-haste,’ Jay agreed.

All I had to do, as it turned out, was open the front door. Addie ran down the little hallway at a canter, and hit the grass beyond at full gallop.

I followed.

Millie had contrived to hop to about the highest point on the island; Melmidoc’s shining spire towered not far away, and the treacherous sea was reduced to a distantly glittering blue-grey ribbon on the horizon.

One corner of the farmhouse was rather crushed, its newly-mended stonework crumbling. ‘Lucky you’ve got royal patrons now, Millie,’ I grumbled.

Jay emerged from the house, carrying Mauf and the scroll-case, both of which he put into my hands. The pages of Torvaston’s translated book stuck out of Mauf’s front cover.

I stuck them into my trusty shoulder-bag. ‘The lyre?’ I asked, when he made no move to go back inside.

He just winked at me.

‘That… that isn’t an answer.’

‘I know.’

‘We aren’t leaving it in the house?’

‘No, certainly not.’

‘Then… Emellana’s got it?’

He merely smiled at me.

‘I dislike secrets, sir. You should know that.’

‘Untrue. You love secrets — except when they’re withheld from you.’

‘Which is exactly what you’re doing.’

‘It’s for a good cause.’

‘That being?’

‘Your sanity.’

I considered that. ‘I concede the point,’ I reluctantly said.

Emellana emerged into the cool air, still clutching the pup. She did not appear inclined to transfer Goodie into my care, and pup herself just lay there, like an inert and smiling log.

I had to scowl.

‘I suppose it’s all right for pup to ride with you for a bit,’ I said, as graciously as I could, which wasn’t very.

Emellana gave me a serene smile. ‘She is very tired.’

To which, I had no particular response to offer.

Turn page ->

Episode 7

The Wonders of Vale: 3

by

There was indeed a house in the driveway. With a supreme disregard for convenience or sense, Millie had parked herself almost directly in front of the great double-doors. I had to take a sharp left once I reached the steps, and circle around the familiar flint stone walls of the sturdy eighteenth-century farmhouse, before I saw Alban’s enormous, so-shiny car.

It was purple today.

‘My favourite colour,’ I said as I approached the driver’s seat.

His highness smiled up at me. ‘I know.’

He, as always, was my favourite everything. Bright, intense green eyes, lively and full of approval as he looked at me. Bronze, artfully windswept hair. Loose, cream silk shirt.

I realised I was clutching the pup before me like a meat shield between me and him, and adjusted my grip. ‘So,’ I said lightly. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Always.’

At which I raised a brow, half questioning, half disapproving.

‘Sorry,’ he said, and reached up to stroke Goodie’s soft ears. ‘I’m actually playing errand boy. I’ve brought you some things.’ He retrieved a stack of papers from the passenger seat, and handed them to me. ‘That’s the transcript-so-far of Torvaston’s book. There’s less of it than you’ll want, I’m afraid. It’s proving tricky to translate.’

I took it gratefully, careful not to touch his fingers. ‘Thank you. I’m sure it will be useful.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. And I’ve brought your new team mate. She’s inside with Milady.’

So he wasn’t to be our ally from Mandridore. ‘Excellent,’ I said brightly. ‘Then we’re almost ready to go.’

I waited, with the vague hope that he’d say something like allow me to escort you to your unusually house-shaped chariot, milady, and then never leave again.

Sadly, he merely nodded, and turned the key in the ignition. His beautiful car started up with a purr. ‘Be careful out there, Ves. I’m pretty sure it will be dangerous.’

‘Doubtless,’ I said, with a failed attempt at a smile. ‘But then, so am I.’

‘Oh, always.’ He released the handbrake.

‘So you aren’t coming with us?’ I blurted. Great. So much for cool composure.

Alban looked up at me. ‘I wanted to. Mother… said no.’

‘And you have to do as you’re told.’

He smiled, faintly. ‘For the most part, yes. I do.’

What a dreary prospect. I didn’t try again to detain him, and after a moment’s hesitation, he said, ‘Bye, Ves. Call me when you get back,’ and drove slowly away.

I stood watching until the glorious Purplemobile was out of sight, for once appreciating pup’s clumsy attempts to groom my face.

‘All okay?’ said Jay, from right behind me.

I jumped, and turned. ‘How long have you been there?’

‘About three seconds.’

I must’ve been lost in thought; I hadn’t heard him approach. ‘All okay,’ I said, with my firm, professional, no-nonsense smile. ‘We’ve got this.’ I waved the papers at him. ‘Transcript of His Majesty’s Mysterious Book of Magick, or some of it. And our new associate’s inside.’

Jay glanced at the empty driveway, down which Alban had just disappeared. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes, Alban isn’t coming with us. I don’t know who the lady is, yet; he didn’t say.’

He was either wise or sensitive enough not to show his probable relief at Alban’s lack of involvement. ‘Right,’ he said instead, with a nod. ‘Let’s go introduce ourselves.’

Our new associate was a troll with at least a dash of giant heritage, or so I was forced to conclude. We found her in the Audience Chamber — the same room, I noted in passing, where I had first met Alban. She, though, was not to be found lounging at one of the tables, supping upon chocolate and pastries and reading a book. She stood not far from the door, her regal posture emphasising her excessive height, her large hands neatly folded as she awaited our arrival. I might have expected a lady dispatched straight from the Court at Mandridore to be sumptuously garbed, but she was dressed in plain trousers, a simple shirt, and sturdy boots made for tramping about. Ready for anything, then. She was not young; her wealth of hair was snow-white, and her face wreathed in the tracery of advanced age. Nonetheless, she was unbowed, and emanated an enviable kind of vitality.

She observed our approach coolly, and subjected us both to a swift, keen look before she stepped forward to meet us. ‘You must be Miss Vesper,’ she said, in a low, rather deep voice. ‘And Mr. Patel.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, on my best behaviour because — her casual attire notwithstanding — something about her self-possession and serenity suggested great power. Whether of the magickal kind or the courtly-status kind, I couldn’t yet say.

‘Emellana Rogan,’ she said. ‘I am here at Her Majesty’s direction.’

My jaw dropped.

‘It— I— um, wonderful to meet you,’ I managed. ‘Jay, Ms. Rogan is—’

‘I know,’ said Jay, and looked unsure whether to bow or shake her hand. He decided upon the latter, and received what appeared to be a painfully hearty handshake from the lady.

Emellana Rogan. Dear, giddy gods, the woman is the stuff of legend. She’s had a thriving academic career since well, well before I was born; her papers and studies fill every magickal library worth its salt from Land’s End to John O’Groats — and well beyond the shores of Britain, too, no doubt. She’s written on every major magickal development since about 1941, unearthed a host of lost spells, dragged all manner of magickal history out of the earth with her bare hands… she’s an archaeologist, charmwright and scholar all in one, and with giddy-gods-know what other talents besides.

Well, apparently one of her less well-known talents is similar to my mother’s. That makes sense, doesn’t it?

‘I can’t say that I have all your books,’ I said, aware that I was gushing but unable, quite, to stop. ‘There are so many. But I’ve got at least half. My favourite is Artefacts and Alchemy, though I also love Charms: An Unorthodox History, and—’

‘Bestiary of Extinct Beasts,’ Jay put in. ‘Especially the part about the Wight settlements, that was brilliant—’

Jay and I were gabbling like teenagers. This realisation seemed to strike both of us at once, for we fell silent, leaving a somewhat awkward pause.

I couldn’t tell if Jay was blushing, but I was. Self-possession, Ves. I lifted my chin.

Ms. Rogan smiled graciously, without condescension, and gave us to understand that she was greatly flattered by our immense admiration, etc.

Then she said six words which threatened to send me off into another paroxysm of awkwardness, namely: ‘I enjoyed your thesis, Miss Vesper.’

She had read my thesis? My thesis! I couldn’t speak.

‘Um,’ I croaked after a moment. ‘Call me Ves.’

Very smooth.

But she nodded, and said: ‘Call me Em.’

Unthinkable.

Jay stepped into the breach. ‘So, you are a… I’m sorry, I don’t know the term for what Ves’s mother does.’

‘It is an uncommon art,’ said… Em. ‘And not much regarded, its uses being considered few. As such, I am unsure a term has ever been coined for it. But yes, I am able to detect traces of past magicks performed.’

‘You’d think such a talent would be more useful,’ I said, interested out of my paralysis.

‘It is vague,’ said… Em. ‘That is its primary drawback. I can determine that some manner of magick was once conducted in this hall, for instance. But what of that? There are traces of many kinds of magick done here, as well there might be. It is difficult to say for certain what kinds of magick they were; impossible to say what they were intended to achieve, when they were performed, or by whom. Therefore, it is of little relevance. I am hoping, however, that your lyre may be able to assist me there.’

‘It’s on its way down,’ said Jay. ‘Orlando thinks it absorbs magick, too.’

Emellana Rogan appeared highly interested in this nugget of possibility. ‘Absorbs?’ she said sharply. ‘I understood it to amplify — certain things, at least.’

‘Both, perhaps?’ said Jay.

‘And that would make some sense,’ I put in. ‘The lyre amplifies some arts because it’s full of absorbed magick.’

‘Which arts?’ said Emellana.

‘We have not yet had much opportunity to test it,’ said Jay.

‘Field tests are always so much more amusing,’ said Emellana, with the trace of a smile, and I liked her excessively all over again. ‘Are we, otherwise, ready for departure?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said. Jay and I had been packed and ready to go for days. Our various goods and supplies would have been delivered to Millie’s parlour by now, Mauf included; we awaited only Emellana, and the lyre.

I heard the click of small claws on marble as my pup came trotting in. She gave that little, triumphant yip that says: ‘Found you!’, and galloped past me in favour of acquainting herself with Emellana.

Emellana bent down at once, her face wreathed in delight. ‘I’d heard of your little companion,’ she said. ‘To think! A goldnose, alive again in England!’  She and the pup declared themselves delighted with one another, through a series of ear-rubs, belly-barings and yips. ‘Are there more?’ she added, looking up at me.

‘No… well, not in this Britain, anymore. There are hundreds of them on the fifth.’

‘I have scarcely felt a greater anticipation than when I heard of this fifth Britain,’ said Emellana, her faded blue eyes alight. ‘Is it as wondrous as I imagine?’

‘We have seen little of it, yet, but still I’d say yes,’ I answered.

‘Now’s our chance to see a lot more,’ put in Jay.

Emellana straightened with alacrity, and smiled. ‘Very well, let us not delay any longer. Can this lyre be retrieved? I shall await you in the house.’

We separated three ways: Em to Millie’s parlour, Jay to enquire after the lyre, and me to find Val and the promised article of Miranda’s.

I found her still in Miranda’s room, or what used to be Miranda’s. Was it significant that the room had not yet been reassigned? Was Milady hoping Miranda could be persuaded to come back?

If her expertise was as rare as Milady suggested, then the most likely answer to that was “yes.” Good luck with that. The Society could hardly be in a hurry to welcome her Home.

‘There isn’t much here,’ Val said as I walked in. ‘I’m having trouble finding anything useful.’

I saw her point. Miranda had a suite of three rooms: a living room and kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. The kitchen still contained its complement of utensils and pans and such, but besides that, the place was mostly cleaned out. Miranda hadn’t planned to come back; that much was clear.

I did recall, though, that Miranda often had a somewhat messy appearance. Her hair was coming out of its tail; her jumpers had holes in; she’d often forgotten something and had to go running back for it.

‘Checked under the bed?’ I asked.

Val just gave me a withering look from her magickal equivalent of a wheelchair.

‘Right.’ I crossed back to the bedroom and dropped to the floor. A few minutes’ crawling about on my belly might have been dusty and undignified, but I did procure one, potentially useful item. I jumped up, waving it triumphantly.

‘A stocking?’ Val said. ‘Really?’

‘I would’ve much preferred an old jumper or something, too, but this’ll do.’ Given the quantity of dust coating the flimsy thing, I wasn’t sure how much of Miranda’s scent might still be discernible from it. But I trusted the pup’s enormous nose.

‘Rather you than me.’ Val floated away towards the door. ‘Call me when you get back. And be careful out there, hm?’

People kept saying that to me lately. ‘Will do,’ I called after her, and stuffed the stocking into my pocket. Next stop, Mellicent Makepeace.

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Episode 7

The Wonders of Vale: 2

by

‘I mean,’ said Orlando, ‘that this lyre possesses considerable power to bewitch, as you have experienced. But it exerts this power selectively, and I have not been able to determine why that is, or how it determines at whom to direct its glamours.’

Faerie glamour. That made more sense than it didn’t. ‘It had no effect on my parents, either,’ I observed. ‘And that’s after it had chosen each of them for the throne of Ygranyllon.’

‘So its interest in you is related to something else,’ Orlando mused.

I shrugged. ‘I haven’t the least idea. Nobody else seemed to, either, among the Yllanfalen.’

‘Obscurity of origin is not uncommon among ancient Great Treasures.  Your mother, I understand, had some theory as to its function?’

‘She’s one of those who can detect traces of past magick performed in a location. She said it… amplified that ability, in some way.’ Mum had been injured, drugged up and half asleep at the time, so her explanation hadn’t been all that coherent. I remember the word whoosh featuring rather prominently.

‘How?’ said Orlando, with that intent look.

‘I don’t know. She was in no condition to explain.’

‘I shall send an enquiry to Ygranyllon. For now, understand that its nature remains somewhat obscure and it must be handled with great care.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jay.

Orlando looked him up and down, as though sizing up whether or not he could be trusted with such a charge. I considered telling him that Jay was the most trustworthy person I’d ever known or could possibly imagine, and much more fitted to haul Great Treasures around than me, but a vote of confidence was clearly unnecessary. Orlando gave a satisfied nod. ‘I do believe it to possess some influence over magickal residue,’ he said, incomprehensibly.

‘Magickal residue?’ I echoed.

‘Yes. But I am not sure it is the sort of influence that might be considered… desirable.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I suspect it of absorbing magick.’

‘Absorbing?’

‘The way you or I might absorb, for example, a fine wine.’

‘So it’s a tippler.’

‘Well on its way to becoming an alcoholic, I would say.’ Orlando’s eyes crinkled at the corners again. ‘I advise keeping it separate from your Wands, or any other such artefacts.’

Jay eyed the lyre with a hard look. ‘I’ll keep it under control.’

The crinkles deepened. ‘Doubtless. Now then, I have been instructed to share one of my newest creations with you.’ His eyes brightened; if I’d imagined him reclusive due to a disinclination to share his work, I’d been wrong. ‘Just a moment, please, I must find it…’ Orlando set off, weaving through the multiple benches with surprising grace considering his size; he’d had practice at this dance. Every workbench was liberally strewn with objects and debris, very little of which I could put any name to. He hunted through these with such single-minded focus, he did not notice Indira at his side until she lightly touched his arm.

‘It’s here,’ she said, and handed him the indeterminate object she had quietly picked up from a trestle table on the other side of the workshop.

I suppressed a smile as Orlando straightened up, and took the thing with alacrity. ‘Wonderful girl. Thank you. Now, this is an entirely new artefact! And therefore, I hope you will not be too surprised if its form or function strikes you as unusual.’

Its form certainly did. He held the precious treasure up for us to admire, and I beheld: a glass disc. At least, it looked like glass. Something indeterminate flickered in its depths, which was interesting, but this aside there was nothing remarkable about it at all.

‘What does it do?’ I said.

‘It… well, hm.’ Orlando gave the disc to Jay. ‘It is a thing of perfect chaos. There is no way at all to predict what it will do.’

‘That seems…’ I paused to consider what the right word might be. Weird? Unfathomable? Completely useless?

‘Unusual,’ Jay supplied.

‘It is!’ said Orlando. ‘At times of difficulty, it is not always easy to determine at a moment’s notice what would be best to do. No? And there is not always time to consider, either. That is where this treasure can help you. When employed, it will add a little chaos to the occasion, in just the right place.’

‘The right place for what?’ I said.

Orlando shrugged. ‘The right place.’

Genius-speak was clearly beyond me.

‘And I should tell you that it has not yet been fully tested,’ added Orlando.

Wonderful. ‘Jay?’ I said. ‘How about you hang onto that, too.’

Jay rolled his eyes at me, and put the panic button into his jacket pocket. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Orlando. ‘We’re very grateful.’

‘I think that you will be.’ Orlando looked upon both of us with vast amusement. ‘Now, if that is everything, I must return to my work.’

‘Almost,’ I said quickly. ‘I could do with some more of those sleep-spheres, if you have any.’

Orlando gave me a measuring look. I found it unsettling. ‘More?’ he said succinctly.

‘They’re handy…’

‘For what?’

‘For levelling inconvenient obstructions.’ I held his gaze, trying not to look innocent, because what could possibly look more suspicious than that?

‘I believe I have one or two around somewhere,’ Orlando said at last, and released me from the scrutiny.

‘Here.’ I found Indira at my elbow, a scant three of the sleep-potion jelly-spheres in her hand. These she tipped into my palm, and I quickly transferred them to a pocket in my dress.

‘Thanks.’ I smiled at her, and received a brief smile in return.

And then we were outside the workshop again, ushered out by Indira, for Orlando had already turned back to his work. I cast a final glance at his broad back, bent as he was over one of his many projects, and wondered if or when I would ever meet him again.

‘Odd fellow,’ I murmured once the door was shut on Jay and I, and bent to pick up the pup. I’d expected her to be halfway across the mansion by the time we emerged, but she hadn’t budged an inch.

‘Geniuses are like that,’ Jay said. I realised he was eyeing me carefully, while attempting to appear casual.

I stopped halfway down the corridor. ‘All right, what is it?’

‘The sleep elixir,’ he began.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. ‘No, I’m not using them to self-medicate.’

‘Really? And how are you sleeping lately?’

‘Like a baby.’

‘So fitfully, and waking up screaming.’

‘Jay. I’m fine.’

He took a moment to consider that, and emerged from his reflections unconvinced. ‘You’ve had some difficult times lately,’ he said, very seriously, and held my gaze with those velvety brown eyes of his. ‘It wouldn’t be… surprising, or shaming, if you’ve been unsettled.’

Part of me felt a vast indignation at such an intrusion. ‘I am Ves,’ I retorted, turning away again. ‘I can handle this.’

The rest of me felt rather warmed by the concern, even if it had come wrapped up in a parcel of doubts. Last year I’d been sent to the infirmary for a check-up. Milady’s orders. Rob had kindly but firmly questioned me on my health, my habits, and my sanity, even as he’d delivered the requisite physical examination. I’d been declared fighting fit, to my relief, but I’d seen doubt in Rob’s eyes as he’d dismissed me. He’d given me strict instructions to come back the very instant I needed anything, and that had been nice.

He hadn’t quite cared, though. Not like this.

Jay gave a tiny sigh, and I felt a pang of remorse for my ungraciousness. ‘I’m fine,’ I said in a more reasonable tone, and threw Jay a smile. ‘Really.’

Jay saluted. ‘You know best, ma’am.’

Did I? I wondered about that as we trailed down and down the stairs, clutching pup’s warm little body to my chest as I thought. Is there a person alive who isn’t a champion at self-deceit?

Was I fine?

‘Ves,’ a voice called as we reached the main hall. Valerie came floating up in her majestic velvet chair, wearing her most impish smile. ‘The Baron’s here. He wants to see you.’

‘That’s Prince Alban,’ I corrected, swallowing down the flutter of… something that promptly threw a riot in my stomach. Apprehension? Excitement? Terror?

‘I think not, when he’s with you,’ said Val. ‘Also, there’s a house.’

‘A house?’

‘In the driveway.’

‘Great. Our ride’s here.’ The question of whether Alban had arrived with the house, and with the intention of going with us, hovered upon my lips. Considering the mischief already bound up in Val’s grin, I decided not to ask.

‘Then it seems we’re about to ship out,’ I said instead.

‘The pup’s going with you?’

‘Yes. Actually… I need something of Miranda’s.’

Val blinked. ‘What?’

‘I’ve got to find her, and no one seems to know where she is.’ I brought Val up to speed, feeling secretly gratified by the angry set to her lips as I spoke. I wasn’t the only one who hated her guts.

‘I saw the posters,’ Val said when I’d finished. ‘I don’t think she’s here, Ves. I haven’t heard a peep about it.’

Val somehow heard just about everything, so that weighed a fair bit with me. ‘Right. So we’re going to ask Zareen, and if she can’t help us, we might need to put this critter’s nose to good use.’ I hefted the pup.

‘You go deal with the prince,’ said Val. ‘I’ll get you something stinky of Miranda’s.’ Her tone said, shouldn’t be too hard.

‘Thanks.’ I watched as Val sailed out of the hall, and took a deep breath.

Jay was staring at me again. Darkly.

‘What is it now?’ I sighed.

‘Are you going out there?’

‘To the driveway? Why wouldn’t I?’

‘He should stay away from you.’

I didn’t need to ask who he meant by he. ‘He’s not going to hurt me.’

Jay merely raised his brows.

‘Come on. Millie’s waiting for you.’ I turned and stepped smartly towards the door, shoulders back, chin high; queenly posture, Ves. Zero doubts shown.

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Episode 7

The Wonders of Vale: 1

by

Betrayal.

It hurts when your enemies do it, but at least you expect them to stab you in the back at every available opportunity.

It’s six times as bad when it’s your friends. Miranda being approximately my least favourite person on the planet at this time, I… am not in any hurry to work with her again.

Unfortunately, Milady insists.

This is why she’s the boss and I’m the lackey. She was no more impressed than the rest of us when Miranda defected to Ancestria Magicka, indulging in a spot of espionage (at our expense) on her way out. As far as I’m concerned, Miranda’s dead to me, whatever her skills may be, or however useful her particular brand of expertise.

But Milady sees opportunity, and takes it. The job must be finished, progress must be made, and if we need Miranda then we need Miranda.

I just wish she’d sent someone other than me to arrange it.

Ah well. If wishes were unicorns, lots of people other than my good self would ride them, and that’s just a messy prospect.

As for her probable location, well, I did some subtle asking around. And when I say “subtle” I mean I put posters up in all the common rooms and corridors at Home, emblazoned with Miranda’s picture and the words: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

Hey, I’m taking leaves out of Milady’s book. Whatever gets the job done.

Anyway, it didn’t take all that long to establish that I am in fact the last member of the Society who’s known to have had contact with Miranda. I’d suspected as much.

I’d last seen her on the fifth Britain, in the halls of the transplanted Ashdown Castle. It hadn’t been an easy conversation, but fortunately it hadn’t been a lengthy one either. Miranda had brought my pup back to me, which had won her back one or two measly points of my esteem (current balance: minus nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight).

And that was that. Where she had gone afterwards, I simply had no idea. Had she been part of the group of Society and Ancestria Magicka members we’d forcibly hauled back to the sixth? Had she made it back here, somehow, on her own?

Or was she still there?

I felt in my heart that she was still on the fifth. The allure of the place affected all of us; I’d practically had to drag Jay back by his hair, and I don’t know anybody more devoted to his family than he.

Meanwhile, we’ve reason to believe that the fifth is absolutely crawling with magickal beasts — the kind that are, at best, highly endangered in our Britain, and at worst outright extinct. The kinds of creatures Miranda would sell her grandmother to gain access to (or her friends, allies and employer, because sure, what are we worth anyway?)

Ahem. As I said, Miranda would want to stay.

So said my heart. Course, my heart has a bad habit for talking utter crap, so what do I know?

 ‘How do you feel about gut instincts?’ I said to Jay.

He looked up at me, blinking with the dazed look of a man so deeply engrossed by a book as to be having trouble finding his way out of it again. We were in our favourite spot in the first floor common room, tucked into chairs by the longest window. I had a stack of five books balanced on the arm of my chair. Jay had twelve.

‘Context?’ he said.

‘Detective work.’

‘Aha, you mean a good old-fashioned hunch.’

‘I’ve a hunch Miranda’s still on the fifth Britain.’

‘I’ve a hunch you might be right.’

‘Two hunches make a…’

‘Spectacular lack of evidence.’

I sighed, and slouched deeper into my chair. I’d sent Miranda a slew of messages, of course; I still had her number. She hadn’t answered any of them. Was that because she didn’t want to talk to me, or because she was too far beyond reach to receive any of them?

We were waiting for one of two things to happen: either a summons from the great Orlando, genius inventor, who reportedly had a stash of new toys for us to play with; or the arrival of our promised help from Mandridore, which may or may not include Baron Alban.

I’d had trouble focusing on any of the several books I’d purloined from the library. Good, improving reads, all of them, but I was restless and distracted and it was all I could do to stay in my seat. I’d got up twice and paced about, but trailing aimlessly from window to window doesn’t pass the time as effectively as you might think, considering its popularity as an activity.

When at last I heard footsteps approach, the brisk kind that heralded someone on a mission, I hurled aside my book with a carelessness that would’ve turned Val’s stomach, and launched myself out of my chair.

It was Indira.

‘Yes?’ I said, beaming.

‘Orlando’s ready to see you,’ she said to me, with her customary politeness.

Jay didn’t look up from his book.

‘Hey, big brother,’ I said, poking him.

He looked up. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re up, Jay,’ said Indira, and she more or less meant this literally, since Orlando’s secret lair is in the attics.

‘Right.’ Jay rose with considerably more composure than I had contrived to display, and set his book aside with all the tender care I should’ve employed.

Does nothing rattle this man? Honestly.

I confess to experiencing more than a little excitement. I scarcely exaggerate when I refer to Orlando’s workshops as super-secret. Few people are allowed in there; Indira’s one of the very rare exceptions, and she’s only permitted because she’s a genius too, and Orlando’s training her as his assistant.

Everyone else? Forget it.

Even me.

When Milady had told us to “report to Orlando”, I’d assumed she meant he would arrange to have our new stuff delivered by somebody… not him. He’s a recluse, like most geniuses, and I’ve set eyes on him exactly twice in my entire history with the Society.

But no. We’d been sent to the common room, there to await Orlando’s personal summons. Personal.

I wanted to take it as a compliment to Jay and I, but no. Orlando didn’t work like that. Rather, it was evidence of the importance Milady placed upon our particular mission. To get this job done, we all had to step up and do things we hated: Jay and I had to deal with Miranda, and Orlando had to deal with people in general.

As we followed Indira up and up the winding stairs to the attics, I resolved upon being as normal and unalarming as possible. Halfway up the stairs, I surreptitiously adjusted the hue of my hair. Bright pink might be taken amiss by a man of shy habits; perhaps a soothing shade of russet might be more appropriate.

Jay gave me a funny look.

‘What?’ I said, hiding the hand that wore my colour-changing ring behind my back.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Last-minute emergency personality recalibration.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to startle the genius.’

Jay’s eyes registered amusement, but his face remained perfectly grave. ‘I liked the pink.’

‘It did go nicely with this dress,’ I allowed, glancing down at the cream silk confection I was wearing.

‘Geniuses are notoriously eccentric, you know.’

He had a point.

By the time we’d finished trudging up staircases, my hair was back to vivid pink and Jay was smiling.

Indira, blissfully oblivious, led us down a rather dark corridor and paused outside of a nondescript door. We were way at the top of the House, but on the opposite side to Milady’s tower, and I’d barely set foot up there before. I couldn’t say I had missed much. The walls were plain white, the passages featureless, and the windows draughty. Not so much as a curtain or a shutter was to be seen.

Indira knocked. ‘Mr. Orlando, sir?’

That was extra polite, even for Indira. I felt a faint flicker of apprehension. Was Orlando a recluse because he was of monstrous personality? No, don’t be absurd, Ves. Shy Indira wouldn’t have survived a week if that was the case.

No answer came, and silence stretched.

Then the door opened an inch. I saw an eye peep through the crack: dark in colour, bright in expression, and penetrating. That eye took in me, Jay next to me, and Indira on her best behaviour, and then the door opened slightly farther.

‘Cordelia Vesper?’ said Orlando.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Jay Patel?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jay.

‘Lovely.’ The door swung wide, then, and the great Orlando stepped back to let us in. I smelt the enticing aroma of coffee — that would please Jay — and bread, the freshly-baked variety. Milady kept our genius well fuelled.

I have, as I said, glimpsed Orlando once or twice before, so I was prepared for his bulk. But on both occasions he had been in retreat, so I’d never seen his face. He proved to have greying dark hair cut ruthlessly short, an olive complexion, and a weathered enough visage to place him somewhere in his fifties. He wore graceless dungarees and an obviously well-loved white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. All these characteristics clearly proclaimed the practical man, so I was surprised to note the simple bronze pendant resting in the hollow of his throat, tied on a length of leather cord. I didn’t recognise the symbol.

Poor pup received a sharp check at the door. ‘No,’ said Orlando sternly, as she made to follow at my heels. He pointed one finger straight at her, then pointed imperiously out into the corridor.

Pup gazed up at him with adoring eyes, and wagged her tail.

‘She won’t do any harm—’ I began, but honesty compelled me to stop right there. What kind of an idiot would turn a goldnose pup loose in a workshop like Orlando’s? Obviously I’d been planning to be exactly that kind of an idiot.

‘Dear pup,’ I said consolingly as I scooped her up. ‘It’s time to go on grand adventures in some other, less obscenely expensive part of the house.’

I hardened my heart, turfed Goodie out into the corridor, and shut the door in her face. Her doleful eyes seemed to follow me as I rejoined Jay, Orlando and Indira.

Animals are heart-rending.

‘…made by a faerie king,’ Jay was saying.

‘For what purpose?’ said Orlando, rather sharply. He spoke with a faint accent, though I couldn’t place its origin. He was said to be Italian, but then he’d also been described as Polish and Croatian by various (most likely clueless) members of the Society, and on another occasion, Russian. Top marks to Orlando for mystique.

‘That isn’t known,’ said Jay, glancing at me. ‘Its present use is—’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Orlando, transferring his intent gaze to the lyre itself. ‘I know all about its current role. But I am not convinced that is what it was originally intended to be used for.’

I’d been trying to avoid noticing the lyre, and largely failing. Orlando treated it with much less reverence than Milady and House had shown, for he’d merely stood it in the middle of a workbench set against one wall, and left it there. It looked incongruous, to say the least, surrounded by the half-finished or half-dismantled paraphernalia of Orlando’s work, but nothing could hide its glorious beauty. It sat there and glimmered, its watery strings rippling, and I swear, it exuded a rosewater perfume to boot. I could smell it from the other side of the room.

‘Ves,’ said Jay warningly, and I averted mine eyes.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Orlando, and I found myself awarded the unsettling honour of his full attention. He looked at me as though he could see my inner workings, and I experienced a touch of sympathy for the artefacts that had crossed his workbenches over the years. This is how they must have felt. ‘Cordelia Vesper,’ said Orlando, like my name was a talisman, or a magick word. ‘You are attracted to it.’

‘Profoundly,’ I said in despair. ‘Don’t ask me why. I mean, I like shiny things as much as the next person—’

‘A bit more than the next person,’ put in Jay, a truth which I could not deny.

‘—but this is something else.’

‘Describe how it makes you feel.’

I groped for the right words. ‘Lustful,’ was the best I came up with.

Orlando blinked.

‘I don’t mean like— I mean, it’s like hunger, but much deeper. Half of me would give just about anything to take that thing up and never let go of it again.’

‘And the other half?’ prompted Orlando.

‘The other half is scared to death of it.’

Orlando’s eyes crinkled in a faint smile. ‘Let us call that the sensible half.’

‘And it’s mesmerising. I find it hard to stop looking at it.’

‘But you can manage to do so, with Jay’s help.’

‘He does have a way of recalling me to my senses.’ It occurred to me that this was true of our friendship in many ways; the lyre was only the most obvious manifestation.

Given that I was meant to be the wise mentor here, there might be one or two things wrong with that arrangement.

Orlando said: ‘It is not possible, I suppose, that Jay should embark upon this errand with some other companion?’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Someone less at risk from the lyre’s glamours.’

‘Leave Ves behind?’ Jay said, and I was gratified by the note of incredulity in his tone. ‘No. Not an option.’

‘I’m going,’ I said firmly. But that said… ‘When you say at risk, what do you mean?’

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Episode 6

Music and Misadventure: 19

by

It was too cruel to abandon my mother to her new role among the Yllanfalen straight away, though I was sorely tempted, for her sudden accession to rank and privilege had only soured her temper further. But Jay and I agreed to stay for a day or two, to see that she received suitable care.

We needn’t have been concerned. The sprites may have treated my father with indifference, but for some reason they adored my mother. They flocked around her, plied her with curatives and pillows and sweetmeats and every good thing, and played her lullabies until she fell asleep (or hurled her pillows at their heads, which she tried once and never attempted again, for the immediate and predictable result was a mass pillow fight).

Ayllin conducted her, very late that night, to a sumptuous suite of rooms near the top of the King’s Halls (henceforth to be termed the Queen’s Halls, no doubt). Whereupon, she disappeared into the depths of the largest, most ornate bed I have ever seen, and for the next two days thereafter spent little time awake.

My father was not disposed to await her waking. He consented to spend a night among the Yllanfalen, but no more, for bright and early the next morning he appeared in the Queen’s Breakfast Parlour (where Jay and I were dining in mother’s place) with the brisk air of a man desirous of immediate departure.

‘She’ll do fine,’ he told me, then hesitated. ‘Won’t she?’

‘Once she’s got used to the idea. You haven’t seen Delia when she’s got a project in hand. The Yllanfalen won’t know what hit them.’

‘My commiserations to the Yllanfalen.’

I smiled. ‘No, I think this is just what Ayllin and the rest were hoping for. It might take them a while to get used to my mother’s methods, but she’ll get the job done.’

‘And what’s the job?’

‘Overhaul?’ I shrugged. ‘If they want to survive, well, no one survives the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune like my mother.’

‘With or without a full set of hands.’

‘You see my point.’

He smiled, faint and wintry. ‘Maybe the lyre got it right, the second time.’

‘It must’ve seen some qualities in you, Dad.’

‘Goodness knows what they were. Anyway, I depart.’ He nodded at Jay in friendly enough fashion, who nodded back, and added a wave. ‘Take care of Cordelia,’ said Dad.

‘It’s Ves,’ I said.

Jay grinned at me. ‘I will, sir, but you should have realised by now: Ves is more of a chip off her mother’s block than she likes to think.’

‘I don’t know what that is supposed to mean,’ I said, with a flinty look.

He pointed a chunk of fresh bread at my face. ‘That, right there.’

I composed my features into an expression of sunny serenity. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Dad hesitated. In fact, he positively dithered. ‘Cordelia—’ he began.

‘Ves.’

‘Ves, then.’ He dithered some more, then gave up whatever the point might have been, and shook his head. ‘It was good to meet you.’

‘Mm. You too.’ I watched as he walked away, dithering a bit myself.

Jay was busy buttering another roll. He said, without looking at me, ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t.’

‘Curse it.’ I launched myself out of my chair and ran to the door, just as my father disappeared from view. ‘Dad?’

He returned. ‘Yes?’

‘Erm. Sprites?’ I said, groping at thin air. ‘Anybody got a thing to write with?’

‘A thing?’ said Cadence in my ear, though without troubling to manifest.

‘Pen, pencil, quill, tomato juice, fresh blood— ah! Perfect, thank you.’ An exquisite pen of coiled silver leaves appeared in front of my nose, together with a miniature scroll. When I set pen to paper, a shimmering silvery ink poured forth. Never have my name and phone number looked more magnificent.

I handed the results to Tom. ‘In case you feel more like being a dad than being a king.’

‘It’s possible,’ he said, and tucked the paper into his trouser pocket. ‘I couldn’t have been less interested in being a king.’ He stooped to give me the briefest peck on the cheek, and then he was gone.

I wandered back to Jay, feeling vaguely dissatisfied with this response. ‘Does that mean he does or doesn’t want to be my idol, role model and hero?’

‘I don’t wish to insult your father, but I think he’s a tiny bit of a coward,’ said Jay. ‘It’s my belief he’ll square up to the idea, though, given a little time.’

I leaned my cheek in one hand, and toyed with a bit of fruit left on my plate (some unidentifiable thing resembling a peach crossed with a cherry). ‘I’m not sure I want a coward for a hero.’

‘You’ve courage enough for both of you. Cut him some slack.’

‘Is your father a hero?’

‘Every inch of him.’ Jay said this with pride, but it was mixed with something wry and rueful. ‘I’ll introduce you sometime.’

I perked up at that. If Jay wanted to present me to his heroes, maybe I wasn’t doing a bad job of being Ves after all.

Jay smirked at me, and added, ‘I’d better make sure they put on a spread fit for a princess.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Why not? You’re the descendant of a king and a queen.’

‘My father was king in name only, and doesn’t count. Anyway, it’s not hereditary around here, however much Mum might have wished otherwise.’

‘I wonder why she wanted that for you.’

‘Mum was always good at that. Long periods of neglect, then some peculiar attack of remorse and she’d make some big gesture to make up for it.’

‘This was a pretty big gesture.’

‘Six years was a pretty long silence.’

He conceded the point with a nod. ‘So what’s next for us, if it isn’t royalty and privilege?’

I went to chew a fingernail, and stopped myself in the nick of time. ‘I want to contact the Court at Mandridore, see if there’s news about Torvaston’s book. Or that box of junk we picked up.’

‘Junk?’ Jay spluttered. ‘The jewels on that scroll case alone could buy my parents’ house.’

‘I meant junk in the sense of random. A fork? A snuff box? What does it all mean?’

‘Maybe nothing. I imagine even kings accumulate clutter.’

‘Don’t ruin my dreams.’

‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘I’m sure it’s the Enchanted Fork of Magick and Wonder.’

‘Doubtless. And the Snuff Box of Mystery and Dreams.’

‘With a naked lady on the lid.’

‘It wasn’t a— no, never mind.’

‘Wise choice.’

After a couple of days of kicking our heels in the Queen’s Halls, hobnobbing with the sprites (mostly me), and playing hauntingly beautiful music on every instrument we could lay our hands on (mostly Jay), we grew bored.

Actually, that was mostly me, too.

I announced that my mother clearly had no need of us, and set forth to bid her a firm goodbye.

I found her reclining in a state of near unconsciousness in her boudoir of pillows, attended by three hovering sprites. Her eyes opened when she saw me. ‘Cordelia.’

‘Mother. We’re off.’ I bent to kiss her cheek.

‘Wait.’ She sat up, wincing. ‘The— the lyre. Where is it.’

‘Lying on your throne. Do you mean to retrieve those pipes, by the by?’

‘Nope. We don’t need ‘em. Nor the lyre either, for now. Take it.’

My feelings about that idea could only be expressed by my backing away, very quickly. ‘No. I’m not touching it.’

‘Get Jay to take it, then.’

‘I don’t think he wants to touch it either.’

She snorted. ‘One of you will have to.’

‘Have to?’

‘I promised Milady.’

‘A few things have changed since then.’

‘A promise is a promise. Take it.’

‘Milady wouldn’t choose to divest the new Queen of the Yllanfalen of her sacred instrument—’

‘Take it.’ Mother was growing agitated, which in her case meant aggressive. ‘I promised her. She made me promise.’

‘Made you?’ I echoed numbly. ‘No one can make you do anything, Mother.’

‘Except for Milady. Cordelia, the sole reason you were sent out here was to get that lyre. You won’t be popular if you go back without it.’

‘Why does she want it so badly?’

Mother wheezed, which I realised was meant to be a laugh. ‘She told me all about her plans in exhaustive detail, naturally. After that, we had a pyjama party and braided each other’s hair.’

‘I see your point.’

‘Mm.’

‘I’m still not touching it.’

‘Then I hope your man Jay’s braver than you.’

‘He’s not my— I’m not a coward!’

Mother just looked at me.

‘Fine, we’ll take it. But what does the damned thing even do, besides install monarchs on that shiny throne down there?’

‘I don’t know, quite, but…’ Mother lapsed into thought for a moment. ‘It has an unusual line on the past, I think.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can sense bits and pieces of a location’s past, to a certain degree. I told you that. When I had that lyre in my hands…’ She was growing tired with the effort of talking, and fell silent for a moment. ‘Whoosh,’ she finished feebly, making a something-exploding gesture with her good hand.

If Mother was right about that, I began to get an inkling as to why Milady wanted to borrow it. ‘It would make sense,’ I suggested. ‘It is an instrument of history and tradition.’

‘Until lately.’ Mother’s eyes crinkled in a tired smile.

‘Change comes to us all. But why aren’t we borrowing you as well as the lyre, in that case? Your ability there isn’t too common.’

‘Milady probably has someone for that.’

Could be so. The Society employed quite a lot of people, and Milady made a point of collecting the rarer talents.

Mother’s eyes closed again. I watched her for a little while, trying to convince myself that her pallor was fading. She looked terribly weak, and somehow… forlorn, adrift within that enormous bed by herself.

Her eyes snapped open. ‘Weren’t you going?’

‘Right. Sorry. Bye, Mum.’

‘It is a truly remarkable thing,’ said Milady upon the following morrow.

Jay and I were at the top of her tower, comfortably seated in chairs of House’s providing. The lyre occupied a plinth before us; that, too, had been spun out of nothing by our beloved House, and it was of fitting beauty: silver studded with amethysts, and attractively carved. House had style. The moonsilver lyre sat there sparkling dreamily in the sun, its strings peacefully flowing, emitting a faint, fae melody to tease our ears.

I’d taken it up, at first. Jay had taken one look at my eyes, and swiftly swiped it off me.

‘Nope, nope, nope,’ he’d said. ‘Bad idea.’

I’d studied him carefully for some minutes afterwards, but he showed no signs of developing the same peculiar symptoms as I did.

And lo, Jay became our designated lyre-carrier.

‘It’s one of the oldest Great Treasures I have seen, or even heard of,’ Milady continued, in a voice of uncharacteristic enthusiasm. ‘To think that it has been lying in a pond these thirty years!’

‘I can only apologise for my father,’ I said.

Milady said, more gravely: ‘I must apologise, Ves. I had no idea the venture would prove so… personally significant for you.’

‘Except that it began with my mother.’

‘Delia gave me no reason to imagine you were so completely out of touch.’

‘Would you have chosen differently, if you had known some of these things?’

When Milady decided to be open and honest, she really did it properly. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Shall we move on from the apologies, then? Why have we just retrieved this lyre?’

‘I believe it may be of use to us in the matter of Farringale, and perhaps the fifth Britain. If the reports of its talents are true, much may be learned. It goes to Orlando’s department at once, and I have hopes of hearing something shortly.’

‘Orlando? Why?’ He was our inventor. His specialty was new stuff, not dusty old artefacts.

‘Because nobody understands the inner workings of enchantments better than he, and his associates. How do you suppose he produces such high quality products? His creations are not produced out of thin air. He has studied a vast number of existing artefacts and treasures.’

‘Right. Has there been any word from the Court?’

‘Little of relevance, yet. Torvaston’s book is being translated and studied as we speak, though it has yet to shed any light on those objects you retrieved along with it.’

My heart sank a little. I’d hoped to have something new to dive into as soon as we returned.

Perhaps Jay had, too, for he said: ‘What would you like for us to do next, then?’

‘You are free to take some time off, if you’d like.’

Time off? My mind went blank at the prospect. When was the last time I’d had more than, say, half a weekend of free time?

‘Great,’ said Jay, rising from his chair. ‘Because it’s Anaya’s birthday, and I’m late.’

‘Convey my greetings to your family, Jay,’ said Milady.

‘Absolutely, ma’am.’ Jay bowed.

‘Who’s Anaya?’ I asked as he passed me.

‘My sister.’

‘How many sisters do you have?’

‘Three. I’ll see you in a couple of days, all right?’ He smiled at me, and left.

A couple of days. I watched the door close on his retreating back.

‘Can I stay here?’ I asked, trying not to sound plaintive.

Milady hesitated. Probably she should say no.

‘Yes, Ves,’ she said instead. ‘It has been a difficult week for you, hasn’t it?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Of course. There’s chocolate in the pot. And on this occasion, you will find your pot on Valerie’s desk.’

I found two pots on Val’s desk, in fact, and some more joys besides. Enthroned atop the expansive surface lay my favourite book in the world: dear Mauf, his purple covers gleaming. And curled atop Mauf was a tufty bundle of yellow fur, sound asleep.

Val was deep in a book, of course; I rarely saw her in any other state. She did not immediately look up as I trailed into the library, so I sat in the chair opposite and laid my cheek against Robin Goodfellow’s soft fur.

‘Bad week, hm?’ said Val.

‘Mmpf,’ I said.

She closed her book, handling it with tender care. ‘The Baron left those for you. He’s off on some kind of diplomatic mission, and said you’d probably want them.’

‘So I do.’ I sat up and poured chocolate.

‘Is that for me?’ said Val, pointing at the second pot.

‘I expect so. Milady sent me down here.’

‘Why?’

‘No idea. Actually, she didn’t send me so much as put my chocolate down here as bait.’

‘I don’t have much for you to do.’

‘It’s okay. Apparently I am having “time off”.’

Valerie blinked. ‘Oh.’

I gulped chocolate.

Valerie watched me with her steady dark eyes, and nodded slowly. ‘You’d better tell me about it, hadn’t you.’

‘Do you want to hear about it?’

‘I don’t know. Do I?’

I began, wretchedly, to laugh. ‘It makes the most farcical story. You may not believe me.’

Val took a swallow of chocolate, and grinned. ‘I like farce. Hit me with it.’

And I did.

A week drifted by, only some of which I spent at Home. After a day or two of basking in House’s familiar comforts, I felt obliged to remove to the Scarlet Courtyard, and bask in Mrs. Amberstone’s comforts instead (which, to be fair, are not insignificant). Jay had leave to remain with his family for much of it, which was doubtless good for him. I tried to recall if he’d managed to have more than an afternoon off since he’d joined the Society, and concluded possibly not. Good sport, Jay. It would be a shame to burn him out.

The problem with a lifestyle like ours is, you forget what to do with free time. I lounged; I chatted with Val; I caught up on a bit of walking, and a bit of reading. There was cake, which I ate listlessly.

I slept too much.

No doubt this was good for me, too, for when a summons to Milady’s tower materialised some eight or nine days later, enthusiasm couldn’t begin to cover my feelings.

I was back at Home and at the top of the tower within an hour.

‘Welcome, Ves,’ said Milady as I ventured in. An elegant chair had been placed for me, facing the centre of the room, where manifested the faint sparkle in the air that was all one ever saw of Milady. The suggestion of a second chair occupied a spot nearby, an intangible outline; House had got halfway through conjuring another, and paused.

‘Good morning, Milady,’ I said with my usual curtsey, and took the solid chair.

‘I trust you are well?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If a little bored.’

The sparkle intensified: amusement. ‘You ought to have time off more often,’ she said. ‘There are laws about that sort of thing.’

I tried to feel as though that would be a nice idea. ‘What would I do with it?’

‘Jay, for example, has been—’

‘Visiting his family.’

Milady acknowledged the justice of my unspoken objection with a polite silence. ‘Relations with your mother are…?’

‘Still peculiar. Likely to become more so, now that someone’s been idiot enough to give her free rein to boss everyone around.’

‘Perhaps she will benefit from a suitable outlet for that side of her personality.’

‘I am unlikely to see anything of it, if she does.’

‘Very well.’ I braced myself for questions about my father, but Milady permitted the subject to drop. ‘I would have spoken to you yesterday, but we await Jay—’

‘Here,’ said Jay, and the door opened smartly to admit him. He smiled at me, looking bright-eyed, glowing with health and very happy indeed.

‘Good week?’ I said, returning the smile.

‘Splendid. The girls are doing well. Dev’s up to his eyeballs in exams, but he’ll fly through them; nobody’s worried about that except him. And I met—’ He stopped abruptly, and cast me a look I found it impossible to interpret. ‘It was a good week,’ he finished, and turned away his eyes.

The second chair took solid shape, and Jay sank into it. ‘I brought Indira back, ma’am. She’s on her way to Orlando.’

‘I know. Thank you, Jay.’

He grinned. ‘Of course you do.’

‘I have a new assignment for you both,’ she said. ‘If you are ready to continue?’

‘Perfectly,’ I said.

‘Absolutely,’ said Jay.

‘Excellent. I have had word from Mandridore regarding those books you secured from Farringale. They are not yet fully deciphered, and there is some disagreement as to the precise import of some parts. However, there appears to be some support for the hypothesis you formulated on that occasion: namely the links between magickal creatures such as griffins, and magickal surges.’

‘So they are linked,’ I said, with a glow of satisfaction.

‘There appears to be some support for the idea,’ Milady repeated, which meant: maybe, but don’t get carried away. ‘Certainly it appears that the causal relationships here may have been misinterpreted. Are griffins drawn to areas of excess magick, or do certain areas become concentrated sources of magick because of their griffin population?’

‘Maybe some of both,’ Jay suggested.

‘Yes; a symbiosis, which can on occasion get out of hand. That is possible, maybe even likely. And if this is the case, then the gradual decline of magick in Britain can be partly attributed to the commensurate decline in such creatures as griffins.

‘So: what can be done about this?’

All sorts of possibilities popped into my mind, one thought chief amongst them. ‘Had they begun to realise this in Torvaston’s day?’

‘Yes,’ said Milady. ‘His books indicate that the notion had occurred to the Court’s scholars. Of course, there is no real consensus among academics as to when the decline truly began, or how far back it can be traced; reports are conflicting, and conclusions differ widely. But if Torvaston and Hrruna knew of it, then that casts a different light on some things.’

‘Such as what they were doing with Farringale’s griffin population,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Torvaston wasn’t magick-drunk and addicted. Maybe he was… trying to help.’

‘Both,’ said Milady. ‘Possibly the former came about as a result of the latter, at least in part. His books seem to indicate it.’

Which made him a rather tragic figure after all, if it was true.

‘What was he really doing on the fifth Britain, then?’ said Jay. ‘Were he and his entourage really looking for a new home? Were they exiles?’

‘That is unknown. The books we have were written before that occurred, of course. If any records were created afterwards, they are presumably on the fifth Britain.’

‘Is that where we are going, then?’ I said.

‘It is. The scroll-case and its map suggest that Torvaston had a mission planned in advance of the disaster at Farringale. I want the two of you to find out what it was, and what became of it.’

Jay and I were silent for a moment, figuring out everything Milady had not specifically said.

‘The maps were of the fifth Britain, were they?’ I said. ‘The Vales of Wonder, and the Something Mountains?’

‘Hyndorin,’ supplied Jay.

‘Right.’

‘Since that is where Torvaston ended up, it seems likely,’ said Milady. ‘But there is nothing on the maps to confirm it beyond doubt.’

‘And the books? Do they explain why he wanted to go to those two places?’

‘Not in clear terms. However, the Court believes that the mission was bound up with the question of the sources of magick, and its connection with what are sometimes called the beasts of mythology.’

What had Torvaston’s scholarly book been called? A Treatise Upon Magicke: Its Sources and Histories. Something like that. And we’d heard that the fifth Britain had a much more thriving population of creatures like griffins than we did. Coincidence? Perhaps not.

Furthermore, the griffins of the fifth collected in places like the very Vales of Wonder Torvaston had been heading for.

I had to agree with the Court: there was a clear case for investigation here.

‘Is this a solo mission?’ said Jay. ‘Sounds like it’s coming from the Court.’

‘They have proposed a joint effort.’

‘And you were saving us for this,’ I said, rather cheekily.

‘I was.’ Milady admitted it with perfect serenity. ‘The Court undertakes to spearhead this venture, at least officially.’

‘So technically, we are working for them again.’

‘Technically.’

‘And the Ministry?’

‘The Hidden Ministry will be informed once we have solid findings to share.’

I grinned. ‘Top secret mission it is.’

Jay glanced at me. ‘Who are they sending to go with us? I assume we’ll have help.’

‘That is not yet known. You have one day to prepare, and will depart for the Fifth tomorrow. Whoever is to accompany you will be here by then.’

I understood from Jay’s sideways look that he was worried it might be Alban.

It probably would be Alban, to be sure. But was I worried about that, too?

I rather thought not.

Maybe?

No.

‘Is there anything else?’ I said, dismissing the subject from my mind.

‘Yes. Don’t forget to take the moonsilver lyre.’

‘Ves shouldn’t touch it,’ Jay said quickly.

‘Then you may carry it.’

He saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And, Ves, if you can contrive to take your unicorn companion along, you may also find that a useful measure.’

Who better to take on a find-the-mythological-creature game than a unicorn, indeed?

‘I imagine it can be managed,’ I said. ‘Are we using Millie again?’

‘The Court has prepared her for service.’

I hoped the process had proved a pleasant one for Millie, whatever it had entailed.

‘There is one more thing,’ said Milady, as I rose from my chair.

I paused. ‘Oh?’

‘If at all possible, I want you to find Miranda.’

I froze. ‘What?’

‘And take her with you.’

‘But— but she’s a traitor.’ That was Jay, sounding unusually upset for him.

‘She remains among the foremost experts on magickal beasts in Britain.’

‘Are there more? Can’t we get one of the others?’

‘They are unavailable.’

‘Why?’

‘Two are somewhere in South America, in search of the camahueto. They have been gone for some months, and are not expected to return for some time. One is too elderly, at ninety-seven, to accompany you on any such venture. And the last placed himself beyond our reach when he accepted an offer of employment from Ancestria Magicka.’

Jay was frowning fiercely. ‘Miranda accepted an offer of employment from Ancestria Magicka, and betrayed us on her way out.’

‘She may appreciate an opportunity to make amends.’

‘Or she may betray us again.’

‘Find her, please.’ Milady’s voice developed a rare note of steel. ‘It is my belief that you will be glad of her expertise.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said quickly, forestalling Jay’s next objections with a slight shake of my head.

‘Excellent. Good luck, then. Please report first to Orlando. He has some new equipment you may find useful.’

Jay and I trailed out.

‘Well,’ said Jay, with a frustrated sigh. ‘Marching orders. Only: where do we even begin looking for Miranda?’

‘Good question,’ I said. ‘But I have a feeling she never left the fifth Britain. And if she didn’t, there’s one person who might know where to find her now.’

Jay nodded. ‘Right. Time to go see Zareen.’

***

“Fun” for all the family, right…?!

Next we’re going back to the Fifth Britain for a whole world of shenanigans, but first let me remind you about two things: there’s an ebook edition of Music and Misadventure, if you’d like your own copy to re-read. Also don’t forget to check out my Patreon club, for exclusive stuff (previews of new episodes, ebook copies of every book I write, plus extra short stories!)

Okay, onward. Hold on to your hat…

Turn page ->

Episode 6

Music and Misadventure: 18

by

‘It’s about the lyre,’ I said to Ayllin.

‘I could have guessed that much,’ she replied. Her eyes strayed to my father, still seated upon his throne, with the moonsilver lyre in his lap. I tried to read her expression, but failed; she was impassive, after an icy fashion.

‘Can you fix it?’

Her gaze returned to me. ‘Fix it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it broken?’

‘Um. My father’s presence on that throne says it is.’

To my surprise (and discomfort), she smiled at that with genuine amusement. ‘Perhaps he is not the only one who has drawn such a conclusion,’ she said. ‘But he’s no less wrong for it.’

‘I… don’t understand.’

‘How did you get it back?’

‘The lyre?’

‘Yes, the lyre. What is it doing here?’

‘We retrieved it from the water, obviously.’

‘We?’

‘Yes. You knew that was the goal — you helped us. So why do you ask?’

Her lips pursed. ‘I have helped many on that particular quest. I had no reason to imagine you would be successful, but it is always worth another try.’

‘So you wanted the lyre back? My father said—’

‘Your father appears to be spectacularly misinformed,’ she said, betraying a trace of irritation. ‘Which ought not to surprise us, considering he has spent a mere matter of hours among his people.’

‘His people threw him out. Is that not the case?

‘His people required a period of adjustment, to adapt to so much change. If he had stayed—’

‘If? Did the Yllanfalen throw him out, or did they not?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And the lyre with him.’

‘There was anger. It was my fault. I mishandled the matter.’

‘So I heard.’ I folded my arms, and did my best to stare the lady out of countenance. I do not much enjoy being so thoroughly confused. ‘The lyre was meant to choose you, no? But strayed into my father’s hands by accident. Mishandled indeed.’

‘Accident? It would be impossible to control the course of that lyre on festival night. It takes its own course, and chooses who it will. I had hoped it would choose me, but it did not.’

‘Hoped! So you did not manipulate its song? You didn’t fix it up to pick whoever got hold of it next?’

‘Is that what our precious king thinks?’

‘He is quite convinced of it.’

‘Well. He’s modest enough, I will give him that.’ A faint smile ghosted over her face. ‘He is still wrong. Supposing it were possible to impose such a course upon that lyre, and I highly doubt it: no Yllanfalen could be so crude. Don’t you see? It is not enough simply to have a monarch, any monarch. It must be the right one for the era. One who can be… what we need.’

‘And what did you need, thirty years ago?’

‘Change.’ She was not laughing now. ‘We had grown set in our ways. Too hidden from the outside world, too closed to everything that is not tradition. It is a poor course for any culture, is it not? Look at the wider world now. So many kingdoms, so many cultures, have faded away forever — and it’s my belief they exacerbated their down troubles by their very efforts to mitigate them. Closing one’s doors to progress achieves nothing but stagnation and decay. We did not want that for the Yllanfalen.’

‘We?’

‘Our former queen, and many others, including myself. Did you never ask your father why he was here that night?’

‘No… nor my mother either.’

‘That was no accident. It was our choice to throw open the doors, to invite everyone who might feel some affinity with us and our ways. And if the lyre chose outside of our own people: perhaps that would be right.’

‘But your own people were not quite so happy with this as you’d hoped.’

‘No. Neither, crucially, was your father. And that is one thing we did not count on: the lyre must choose a monarch, but the monarch must also choose themselves. Your father did not.’

I took a moment to think, and wrap my head around Ayllin’s words. The ground was shifting under me so fast, I could barely keep up. ‘Right. But, wait. I see that it went wrong, and — what, the doors were closed again anyway?’

‘With greater emphasis than before,’ said Ayllin, with a wry smile.

‘Talk about unintended consequences.’

‘Yes. Rather what I meant, when I said that one’s best efforts to mend a problem can sometimes deepen it.’

‘But why then did you never try again? Why leave the lyre languishing at the bottom of a pool for thirty years?’

‘Oh, we tried. And we encountered a new problem: over some things, the monarch’s will holds total sway. One such, of course, is the lyre.’

‘Ohgods.’ I thought back to my doomed attempt to swipe that other set of skysilver pipes off the effigy of King Evelaern. ‘That’s why we couldn’t get the pipes.’

‘You tried, did you? Many have tried before you. And many tried to remove the lyre, too, with no more success. The bottom of the pool was its appointed place, as far as our king was concerned. Only he could reverse that command, and take it out again.’

My breath stopped, for a long, agonising moment, as my mind turned a few unhappy somersaults.

‘What?’ said Ayllin. ‘What is it?’

‘Um,’ I croaked. ‘Only the king…?’

‘So it seems, for none other has succeeded.’

‘And… and, um, do you have to play the lyre in order to be chosen as monarch?’

‘That is how it has always been done.’

‘But you wanted change.’ I had to laugh, though the sound had more despair in it than mirth.

Ayllin’s eyes widened. ‘It… it was the king who retrieved the lyre, wasn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘Was it… you?’

‘No.’

I saw dismay in her face. ‘Was it that handsome fellow you travel with? He plays the ancient airs like no one I’ve heard.’

My eyebrows rose. ‘Jay? No.’

Her face fell. ‘Then it was—’

‘That lady. Yep.’ My mother was on the approach, elbowing people aside as she stomped and pushed her way through the crowd. She looked in as good a mood as a day of disasters and constant pain was likely to produce, and fixed both of us with a forbidding scowl.

‘Cordelia,’ she growled. ‘These sprites will not leave me alone.’

Looking behind her, I saw Cadence, Euphony, and Descant, together with a few unfamiliar ones. How many more might be hovering invisibly around her?

Ayllin gave a great sigh, and I detected a brief roll of her eyes heavenwards. Then, to my surprise and my mother’s obvious disgust, she performed a graceful curtsey and said: ‘They are eager to greet you, Majesty, as am I. Welcome.’

Mother stared. ‘You appear to be mistaking me for my… for that man.’ She waved her stump in Dad’s general direction.

‘I think not.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’ Mother turned her shoulder to Ayllin, and frowned darkly at me. ‘I begin to think you were right. I’d be glad of some rest. Can we go? I can’t get that boy to stop playing the piano either.’

A fine concession from my mother; it told me that she was suffering, if her pallid face and weary gait had not been enough. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible now, Mother. Though if you want rest, you’ve only to say so, and your people will no doubt provide you with everything you could want.’

‘This isn’t an amusing joke, Cordelia.’

‘No. No, it really isn’t.’

‘Then take me home. I am sure the selection of a new leader can go on without us.’

‘It’s already happened.’

The sprites, indeed, were backing us up with coaxing professions of joy, devotion and concern, together with assorted requests and petitions. My mother ignored all of it.

‘The thing is, Mother,’ I said, interrupting her next diatribe. ‘You shouldn’t have been able to take the lyre out of the pool at all.’

‘Shouldn’t? But it was the easiest thing in the world. I just reached in and…’ She trailed off.

I mustered a faint smile. ‘It seems you weren’t the only one to try that. You were the only one to succeed, though.’

‘No.’ Mother stared at me with something like anguish. ‘It was meant to be you. I took the lyre for you!’

‘Nonetheless.’

‘But you wanted it, Cordelia. Anyone could see that, whenever you looked at it—’

‘I may lust after that lyre, but not the trappings that go with it. Besides, Mother, you miss the point. It’s not about wanting the lyre. It’s about the lyre wanting you.’

‘Why would it want me?!’

‘Good question. Are you going to argue about it all night?’

‘Or,’ Ayllin put in, ‘run away from us, like the last one?’

‘What makes you think your damned xenophobic people will want me any more than they wanted Tom?’

‘Tom’s accession was thirty years ago. Change touches us all, in the end.’

‘There’s one way to be certain about this,’ I said. ‘Ayllin, you must know that my mother has scarcely a drop of musical talent in her.’

Ayllin’s lips quirked. ‘Well, that is certainly… new.’

‘Quite. So, let’s go talk to Dad.’ I took hold of Mother Dearest and plunged into the crowd, heading for the throne. I’d expected to spend a few minutes pushing and shoving in order to reach it, but Mother — ever her impatient self, and now infinitely weary to boot — barked, ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, just step aside!’

And they did. A clear corridor opened up for us through the throng of people, giving us an unimpeded view of the throne.

Mother gaped. Those who’d so obligingly cleared space for us looked scarcely less surprised.

I grinned. ‘Oh, life never gets any less bizarre, does it?’

Jay stepped into view, flanking my father’s right hand. He’d abandoned the piano at last, apparently in favour of a little lap-harp, which he cradled in both hands. A wooden flute hung around his neck. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘We’re about to witness a coronation,’ I told him. ‘Of sorts.’

He looked aghast. ‘Ves, no. You can’t let yourself be pushed into this.’

I flashed him a swift smile. ‘Don’t panic. It isn’t me.’

His eyes went from me, to Mother, to Ayllin, and settled on the latter.

‘Nope, wrong again. Dad? Can we have that lyre a minute?’

My father, for all his complaints, exhibited a trace of reluctance as he held out the lyre. I wondered what it had cost him to throw it away in the first place, for all that he did not want the responsibilities it conferred.

But he was holding it out to me; even he could not grasp the truth without assistance. I stepped aside, and ushered Mother forward.

‘Just give it a quick go, Mum. If you’re right and this is an absurd joke, you’ll soon prove it.’

Mother glowered at me, but snatched up the lyre with her good hand. There followed an ungainly fumble, for a one-handed lyre player will always find herself at a disadvantage.

My father’s eyes sparked with amusement. ‘You’ll need to sit down,’ he said, and rose from his own seat upon the throne. ‘Why don’t you try this one?’

Muttering something about conspiracies, Mother plunked herself down on the throne and settled the lyre in her lap.

And the matter was promptly settled, for once she’d set her good hand to the strings, her fingers began to move as though she had played the lyre since the cradle, and what poured forth was the most heavenly, ambrosial melody I could ever remember hearing. She even outdid Jay’s playing; her sudden talent far exceeded mine.

I gave up a polite round of applause. ‘Congratulations, Father. You’re liberated.’

And my father, wretch that he was, promptly went off into a gale of helpless laughter.

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Episode 6

Music and Misadventure: 17

by

‘Your mother can’t withstand a wild night like that,’ hissed Jay to me, having drawn closer to me and  farther away from the mother in question.

‘She doesn’t need to do much. We put her in a comfy chair, ply her with victuals, let her sleep through it if she wants.’

‘Ves, will you please think about something or someone other than the mission.’

‘I am! What else are we going to do with my mother? She won’t be left out, she won’t be sent for treatment until this is all over, and she won’t be fit and healthy until she’s had at least a week’s rest and care. We need to wrap this up tonight, and this is the best way I can think of to do it.’

Jay nodded. ‘All right, I can’t fault that logic, as far as it goes. But what are we doing with this party?’

I cleared my throat. ‘Dad will kick off the festival. I’m sure there are ways to make a suitably public show of it, get everybody here. Right, your majesty?’

My father rolled his eyes towards the sky. ‘Doubtless, but—’

‘Ayllin will be here with the rest. We find her, ask her what she did to alter the lyre’s song, get her to change it back, and then let nature take its course. Pass the lyre around, spend the rest of the evening in wine and song, and at some point it will choose a new monarch. Right? And then we all go home and sleep for a week. Especially Mum.’

‘Just “get her” to uncorrupt the lyre?’ said Mother. ‘Right! I’m sure there can be no possible objection to that.’

I shrugged. ‘If it’s a choice between that, or going on forever without a leader, I hope she’ll see sense. And it could be her chance to take the throne at last, if she still wants it.’

‘You’re forgetting something,’ said my father. ‘They hate me.’

‘The Yllanfalen?’

‘Yes. They threw me out, rather than accept me as king. What makes you think they’ll all come blithely party with me now?’

‘They threw you out, but you are still the king. Aren’t you?’

‘I… yes.’

‘I think they couldn’t have turfed you out if you hadn’t let them. You let them because you did not want the role. Well, now you can pass it on.’

‘But—’

‘Come on, Dad. We can’t do this without you.’

Father scowled in my mother’s general direction. ‘Is she always like this?’

‘Yes,’ said Jay.

‘And you haven’t gone insane yet?’

‘It gets things done.’

‘Being insane?’

Jay blinked. ‘Well… that, too.’

Father sighed, and directed his attention towards the three sprites, whose only contribution to the debate thus far had been suppressed squeaks of excitement from Euphony. ‘Will the sprites assist me?’

‘Yes, Majesty!’ said Cadence, in a ringing voice.

‘I will never get used to that,’ muttered Father.

I got up from under my tree. ‘Fortunately, you won’t have to. Let’s get started. The sooner we’re finished raving, the sooner we can sleep.’

It was the sprites who carried word of the revelry.

Everything began in the throne room of the King’s Halls, as was fitting. This space we had never glimpsed before, or I’d have certainly remembered, for the chamber was improbably enormous, and sumptuously decorated, even by the standards of the Yllanfalen. Chandeliers as big as my car were suspended from the ceiling, and when Euphony glided, chortling, up to greet them they burst into life, casting a vibrant, sunny glow over the hall. In that light we saw: great, lush hangings covering the walls, worked in silk and velvet and gilded thread, and depicting myriad mythical beasts; a floor of polished… something, that shone as silver as the chandeliers shone gold; long, long windows, arched and ornamented, beyond which the velvet-black night lay waiting; and a banqueting table, fully thirty feet long, already set with all the ornate silverware one might need for a kingdom-sized party.

Father beheld all this magnificence in silence, and gave only a weary sigh. Mother’s response was not much more enthusiastic.

Jay and I, though, were entranced. Jay especially, once he saw that, at the far-distant end of the throne room — situated not far from the throne itself, a confection of mist-whorled glass and cushions of green-and-gold moss — sat a grand piano, or something that closely resembled a piano. It had none of the mirror-polished, black elegance of a typical example from our world; instead it looked wrought from silver, or similar, its surfaces frosted over and a-twinkle with… ice? But its shape was familiar enough, and its bright white keys begged to be played.

Jay began to drift that way.

‘Well,’ said Father, wearily. ‘Let’s begin.’

‘How?’ said Mother.

‘With music. Out here, it always begins with music.’

Jay reached the piano, and sat down upon the silvery-frosted stool before it. He made an incongruous sight: clad in his adored black leather jacket, and with his short, dark, eminently modern hair, seated upon azure velvet stitched with silver and playing a piano from which magick dripped like melting ice.

But when he began to play, I realised at once why the Queene’s Rapture had struck a familiar chord with me. The melody Jay’s clever fingers were drawing forth was the same as he had once played upon the spinet in Millie Makepeace’s parlour, and it shimmered and twinkled like faerie bells.

Father raised his brows at me.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. Life had been busy. I’d forgotten to ask Jay about it.

‘Unusual chap, I think,’ said Father.

I was beginning to get an inkling of that myself.

The sprites had been busy. The piano was not the only instrument in the throne room, I soon saw: what I had previously taken for carvings and ornaments proved to be lutes and pipes and lyres, and one by one the sprites were bringing them into melodious life.

Actually, I take that back. They were carvings. I watched, open-mouthed, as Descant soared up the length of a grand pilaster set against one wall, reaching out with her small hands to touch and touch and touch. Everywhere her fingers brushed the stone, an inert sculpture leapt free of the pillar, transformed at a stroke into gleaming metal or polished wood, and began to play. Jay had finished his gossamer tune and taken up the Queene’s Rapture instead, and the sprites had every harp and dulcimer and flute playing along.

The effect was both deafening and rhapsodic. Indeed, one may even say… rapturous.

Mum made a sound that was half sigh, half groan, and folded into a chair at the table. I took the opportunity to hand her my last dose of potion, pleased to note that the empty silverware was rapidly filling up with delectable feast-goods under Cadence’s capable attention.

‘Drink,’ I said to Mother. ‘But try not to overdo it. It’s borrowed strength these things give you. You’ll pay for it later.’

Mother didn’t even try to argue, which told me all I needed to know about how exhausted she was. She drank off the potion in one swallow, blotted her lips on her sleeve, and said grimly: ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Uh huh.’

She waved me off. ‘Don’t forget to play later.’

‘I haven’t the smallest desire to play that lyre, Mother.’

‘You know you do. Your eyes say otherwise, every time you look at the thing.’

‘That’s not my fault.’

‘Nope.’ She grinned. ‘It’s your destiny.’

‘I don’t believe in destiny, and neither do you.’

‘Maybe I do, now.’

I decided we were done with the conversation, and walked away.

At once I observed that Father had done something highly out of character for him.

He’d made himself comfy on the Throne of the Yllanfalen.

He actually looked pretty good up there, I have to say. Tall, grey of hair and beard, noble; his face was set in resolute lines, and he looked ready to rule.

Appearances can be so deceptive.

I’d lost sight of the sprites. As far as I could tell, they were no longer in the throne room. That, perhaps, was because they’d gone out to wake up the kingdom and spread the party news, for soon afterwards the people of Yllanfalen began to arrive.

They ventured in tentatively, at first, gazing upon the throne room’s revived splendours in wary astonishment. And well they might, considering all this had lain untouched for decades.

But, it does not take much to coax the Yllanfalen into making merry, for they soon forgot their worries, and began snatching up flutes and harps from the walls, and delicacies from the table.

Until, that is, they caught sight of my father, seated in solitary majesty upon his throne. A crowd quickly developed at that end of the throne room, and grew larger and larger as more people arrived. These fae lords and ladies even managed to cluster decorously, for there was no pushing or shoving, no noise, no unseemly chaos. They stared, and they talked, and they waited, though any fool could see that they were not pleased.

My father stared them all down, every inch a king, and I wondered where he had been hiding that quality. In his lap, the moonsilver lyre glimmered with promise, and I realised that was as much the focus of the Yllanfalen’s attention as the king himself.

In fact, I began to feel they might have cheerfully dispensed with my father’s presence altogether — provided he left the lyre.

This did not quite fit with the narrative that the Yllanfalen had themselves rejected the lyre. Perhaps they had not. But then, if they had wanted it back, why hadn’t they taken it out of the water?

Time to talk to Ayllin.

I wasted ten minutes or so weaving through the increasingly crowded throne room, looking for Ayllin with my own eyes. By the end of it, I judged I had personally scrutinised about a hundred people at best, and how many thousands were by now thronging the King’s Halls? Better plan required.

Briefly I considered asking my father to call her up, but discarded the notion. This was not a conversation to be held in public.

The alternative, then? The sprites could find her in no time, no doubt. But where were they?

A recent memory popped into my head. Syllphyllan, the woman at the music shop had said. A favourite with gardeners and orchard-tenders, as the sprites adore it.

All right, then.

I snatched up the sheaf of music I’d received only a few hours ago, and sorted hastily through until I found Syllphyllan. Would Cadence, Euphony or Descant — or any of their sisters, as I imagined there must be more — hear a note of it over the tumult? Maybe not, but it was worth a try.

Out came my pipes. The first few phrases emerged awkwardly from the silvery flute, for my talent for sight-reading isn’t what it should be. But I soon got into the flow, doing my best to tune out the roar of faerie music around me. I probably got half of it wrong; I couldn’t even hear what I was playing.

Then again, if I got half wrong, then I got half right, too. I was nearing the end of the song when a voice whispered in my ear.

‘Who plays Syllphyllan on the King’s Pipes?’

I spun, to find Euphony had come up behind me… no, it was not Euphony. Another sprite, paler and smaller still, hovered by my shoulder. She wore a gauzy dress of heathery gossamer, and a hat of leaves crowned her tumble of wispy hair; more a sprite by appearance than Cadence, with her lumpy knitted drape.

‘I wanted to ask your help,’ I said.

‘There are no orchards here,’ the sprite pointed out. ‘No hedgerows, no herb gardens, no flowers, no fields, no—’

‘Yes, I know,’ I interrupted, for fear she would go on until she had named every possible growing thing. ‘It isn’t gardening I need help with.’

‘But you played Syllphyllan on—’

‘The King’s Pipes. It was the best I had. I am actually looking for someone.’

A cloud of displeasure descended upon her small face. ‘Then you should have played a song of seeking.’

‘I am sorry. I would have, if I knew one. Will you help me? It’s important work for the king.’

‘If it is the king you seek, he is there.’ She pointed a slender finger in my father’s direction.

‘Yes, but I don’t need him at the moment. The woman I want is called Ayllin.’

‘I do not know that name.’

Ohgods. That’s right, we had dubbed her Ayllin ourselves, for her whole name was… difficult.

‘Ayllindariana,’ I tried.

The sprite shook her head.

‘Ayllindarinda?’

‘No.’

‘Ayllindariolonda?’

The sprite folded her arms, and glared at me. ‘There is no such person.’

Giddy gods, I’d never get it right. I tried a few more variations, with no more success; but just as my not-so-obliging sprite was about to give up on me and wing away, another voice said: ‘Is it Ayllindariorana you seek?’

‘Yes!’ I shouted. ‘That was it!’

And Ayllindariorana herself emerged from the crowd, looking none too pleased. I suppose if someone mangled my name the way I’d just wrecked hers, I would be none too pleased either. ‘Can I help you with something?’ she said icily.

‘Actually, yes,’ I said. ‘Just one or two little things.’

Turn page ->

Episode 6

Music and Misadventure: 16

by

Some half an hour later, a period of intense search on the part of the three sprites, and the four of us as well, it was Descant who suddenly screamed, ‘I FOUND IT!’

Her sisters rushed to her side, as did Jay and I, though there was nothing to see. She had hold of a fine, large bubble in her small fist, its shell pearly-white, and she waved it around in triumph. ‘It’s the oldest of all the old ones! Here, Cadence, see if it isn’t the oldest.’ And she delivered the melody into her sister’s hands with a flourish.

Cadence considered it closely. ‘It is well-found, Descant. We will see if the lyre remembers.’

‘How old is the lyre?’ asked Jay.

I looked at it, but being unfamiliar with Yllanfalen aesthetic history I was unable to determine anything to the purpose at all. Except that it was pretty. So very, very pretty… its curves shone moon-bright, and its strings flowed like sunglow on the sea—

‘Ves,’ said Jay, and gently turned me around until my back was to the lyre.

‘Thanks,’ I sighed. ‘Why does it do that?’

‘Maybe it’s because you’ve got those pipes. Like calls to like.’

My adored Great Treasure was proving to be almost as much a liability as a boon, here in this place of its making. That seemed unfair.

I heard music, then, and cautiously turned back around. Cadence had done I-don’t-know-what with the melody, and now the lyre was playing it by itself, its fluid strings rippling in song as an ancient, haunting air filled the echoing library.

I hastily turned my back to it again. Curse the thing, it was almost agonisingly pretty.

‘What’s this song?’ said my father.

‘The King’s Lament,’ said Cadence.

‘A song of mourning.’

‘Yes.’

It did not sound sufficiently lamenting, to my ear, to qualify as a dirge, but then different cultures do mourn in different ways. This was a hopeful tune, and perhaps that was fitting enough.

Once the song’s final strains had died away, though, the lyre lapsed into a thrumming silence, ostensibly unchanged.

Father picked it up and played an experimental note. ‘Ineffectual,’ he pronounced.

‘In what fashion?’ said Cadence.

‘I want to restore the lyre to its state prior to the events of thirty years ago. Before Ayllindariorana altered its song—’

‘Ayllin?!’ said Jay and I together.

‘That woman?’ said Mother.

My father looked helplessly at the three of us, nonplussed. ‘You’ve met.’

‘She’s the one who guided us through to the vault,’ I said. ‘She’s the reason we found you at all.’

‘But why would she do that? She hates me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. She wanted to install herself as queen, not me.’

‘Why?’ I said.

He blinked. ‘What?’

‘Why did she want to be queen so badly?’

‘I never asked.’ He snorted. ‘I hadn’t time. They were too busy throwing me out.’

‘They who? Was Ayllin one of them?’

‘I can’t remember.’

Jay and I exchanged a long look. ‘Doesn’t make sense,’ said Jay.

‘Not a bit,’ I agreed. ‘For another thing, if she was willing to go to such lengths to queenify herself, how did the lyre just happen to wind up in your hands instead, Dad? You’d think she would have taken care to eliminate such happenstances.’

‘No one can eliminate the effects of chance.’

‘True,’ I conceded. ‘Perhaps it was just an accident.’

‘Were you much acquainted with her before that night?’ asked Jay.

‘No.’

‘But she told you her plans anyway.’

‘Not before! After, when she was tearing my face off for getting in her way.’

Mother said, ‘We need to talk to that woman.’

‘She’s not popular with you, hm?’ said Jay.

‘I don’t trust her.’

‘No,’ agreed Jay. ‘It would probably be wise not to.’

Mother scowled, and said nothing.

‘The lady Ayllindariorana,’ said Cadence, ‘has often visited this library.’

‘To do what?’ said Father.

Cadence shrugged. ‘She reminisces with the music.’

‘She’d like to go back to the old ways, would she? No doubt.’

‘You know,’ I put in, ‘if she wants to be queen so much, and nobody else in this room wants the job, perhaps she should just have it.’

‘But she’s a liar,’ said Father. ‘And she cheats.’

‘I don’t see how that’s worse than a king who’s ignored his kingdom for the past three decades,’ said Mother.

‘And it’s par for the course for leaders, anyway,’ I muttered.

Father threw up his hands. ‘Fine. You’re right. If it gets me out of this mess, Ayllindariorana for queen.’

‘Right.’ Mother squared herself up for the task ahead. ‘Where do we find Lady Longname?’

But Descant interrupted before anyone could answer. Her squeak of excitement split the air, and she threw a bubble-song up into the air with glee, and caught it again. ‘This one, this one!’

Cadence took it, and examined it. ‘The Queene’s Rapture,’ she intoned, in a singsong voice.

‘There’ve been queens!’ said Mother. ‘Good. You all bang on too much about the kings.’

‘I think you mean queenes, Mother,’ I said. ‘With an E.’

She gave me her are-you-crazy stare. ‘What?’

I couldn’t explain what it was about Cadence’s… well, cadence, that had put the thought into my head, so I just said, ‘Nothing,’ and let it go. At least Jay smirked.

‘Ancient faerie queens are always spelt with an E,’ he agreed.

‘Exactly! Especially the extra magickal ones.’

‘Was this an extra magickal one?’

‘Indubitably. Just listen to that.’ Cadence had set the new song to the lyre, and its dulcet tones now swamped anything else I might have said. I’d heard something before, and recently too, with a similar texture — layers of fae magick woven into the melody — where had it been?

My pipes distracted me, by jumping to join in the singalong. The music deepened, and so did the magick. We all stood bespelled, even the three sprites, until silence returned. When it was over, the lyre seemed to have developed a brighter radiance. Or was that my imagination?

‘A little better,’ said Father, testing the tone. ‘But there is a resistance here.’

Cadence appeared unsurprised.

‘Can you go back to being the person you were thirty years ago?’ she said, rather cryptically.

‘I’d like to,’ said Father.

‘Would you?’

He hesitated, and thought.

‘I would not,’ said Mother. ‘I was an idiot at that age.’ It could be considered ungenerous of her to glower so darkly at my father as she said it.

He spread his hands, his eyebrows going up, the gestures saying as eloquently as words, not my fault!

‘Ahem,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we could argue about who is to blame for my earthly existence some other time?’

Both parents scowled at me for that, but at least they stopped arguing.

‘Lady Smugboots, then,’ said Mother. ‘Where is she.’

‘That song,’ said Father. ‘We’ll take it along.’

Since they spoke at the same time, it took the rest of us a second or two to parse these separate pronouncements.

‘Yes, Majesty,’ said Cadence.

‘I’m not—’ began Father, but was soon defeated by Cadence’s twinkling, impish smile. ‘Right, have it your way.’

‘Maestro Ayllindariorana is not in the Halls,’ said Euphony. Her eyes went a bit peculiar as she said it, as though she was looking at something very far away — walls notwithstanding.

‘We met her in the town,’ I said. ‘Presumably she went back there after she’d got rid of us.’

‘Got rid?’ Father’s brows snapped together.

‘We did get the impression she was glad to see the back of us.’

‘Or maybe she was glad to see where we were going,’ said Jay.

‘One way to find out. To the town?’

I heard a sigh from my mother, a soft one rapidly suppressed. It did then strike me that she was looking grey around the edges again, and her shoulders were slumped.

No wonder, either. Caught up as we’d been in mystery, magic and adventure, we had barely noticed the hours passing. But night must be falling outside, and once it occurred to me to consider the matter, I realised I was ravenously hungry. We’d been running all day, and our last meal had been too many hours ago.

‘Perhaps we could rest a little first,’ I suggested. ‘Dear sprites, do you suppose there is anything resembling sustenance to be had in these parts?’

‘There is!’ said Euphony. ‘In the Queene’s Orchard.’

‘Does everything around here come with a royal label?’

‘It is the King’s Halls,’ Jay pointed out.

‘Right. Fine. Which way to the Queene’s Orchard, please, Euphony?’

She did not answer, except by an airy laugh. Then, the library dissolved into faerie dust, which swirled around me in a dizzying, twinkling whirlwind.

When it passed, I was standing beneath the arching boughs of a twisted old tree, its gnarled shape casting long shadows on the grass in the dying sunlight. From its boughs hung a multitude of apples. ‘Cadence,’ I said. ‘Descant, Euphony? When we’re finished here, I’d really like to talk to you about some exciting employment opportunities at The Society.’

‘Hey,’ said Father. ‘Those are my retainers.’

‘So you’re the king again now?’

‘If you want them, you take the monarchy too.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, Father.’

He smirked, and reached out for a plump golden-green apple. But the moment his fingers touched it, it became a wrap sandwich stuffed with what looked like curried chicken, and fell tamely into his palm.

We both looked at it in silence.

‘Pork pie!’ said Mother, and added gleefully, ‘I love pork pie.’

Since Jay had a bag of crisps in one hand and a fat samosa in the other, I judged this to be a highly unusual orchard.

When I reached for an apple of my own, I received a miniature cheese-and-onion quiche and a chunk of Bakewell tart.

‘You know what,’ I said, clutching my prizes. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to be the queene.’

Mother smirked around her mouthful of pie.

Sustenance and rest restored my mother, to a certain degree, but not enough. The passage of an hour found her slumped beneath a sheltering apple tree, her back against its trunk, eyes shut against the further demands of the day. I watched her for a while, wondering how it was that she had made it through so many hours, even with the restorative I had given her. She sat cradling her injured arm, enduring a species of pain I could only imagine.

Tough lady, my mother.

I’d rummaged through the remains of my minimal equipment, and come up with one more dose of the restorative potion. But, should I give it to mother? She would use it as an excuse to go on, and on, and on, until she collapsed altogether. Potent as it was, I doubted it could bolster her through the demands of, perhaps, a sleepless night filled with frenzied activity.

Would she consent to being left behind? Certainly not.

Would a single night’s rest do more for her good than the potion? No, probably not either.

So, then. What was the quickest way to wrap up this bizarre misadventure, the sooner to get my mother out of the kingdom of Yllanfalen and into a hospital, where she presently belonged?

I sat beneath my own tree for the majority of that hour, apart from the rest of our disparate company, and thought.

When at length Jay stood up, peered at me through the twilight, and said: ‘We had better find Ayllin before nightfall, no?’ I shook my head.

‘I have a better idea,’ I said.

‘Uh oh.’ Jay took two steps back.

I smiled briefly. ‘I don’t think you’re going to like it all that much.’

He folded his arms, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. ‘Right. Hit me with it.’

‘We’re throwing a party.’

‘A what.’

‘Like the one my esteemed parents attended thirty years ago. Forget finding Ayllin — let her find us, together with the rest of the kingdom, when they all show up for the festival.’

‘It’s not a festival day, is it?’

‘The king is going to declare a new one.’ I beamed at my father. ‘Right now.’

Turn page ->

Episode 6

Music and Misadventure: 15

by

‘Now that we’re here,’ I said, as we trudged upstairs towards the grander halls, ‘how does one go about mending the lyre?’

‘I don’t know, precisely,’ said my father. ‘But it is to do with its song. Something has been altered in its melody.

‘Which means what?’

‘Means it needs to remember how it used to sing.’

‘Vague.’

‘It is the best I’ve got.’

‘Then we’ll take it. Are these old songs recorded somewhere, by chance?’

‘That is my hope. There used to be a library, of sorts.’

‘I love libraries.’

He smiled sideways at me. ‘We have that in common. But the library I speak of is not quite what you’re thinking. This is the Library of Music, and while it has some books of written melodies, the majority of its collections are composed of other records.’

‘Such as?’

‘You’ll see.’

On our previous visits, the King’s Halls had been so absolutely empty that we’d grown careless, traipsing about the place like we owned it.

When we arrived at the Library of Music, that changed. We’d heard the distant strains of faerie melodies as we’d walked, growing nearer and louder with every step; ‘That is not unusual,’ Father had said. ‘There is always music in the Library, with or without anyone to play it.’ But as we stepped over the threshold, we found that Tom was right — and also wrong.

I saw at once what he had meant about “other records”. Melodies hung all about the doorway as we entered the vaulted chamber, strung together like chains of bubbles — or beads. I reached out to one, touched it; I couldn’t resist, any more than I could resist caressing a particularly beautiful book. The moment my fingers brushed its iridescent blue shell, it sparked with a pale light, and a lilting song filled my mind, sung by a hundred voices. It had an air of antiquity about it, and I judged it early modern in era.

There was no restraining myself after that, of course, for they were everywhere: wafting in puffs of light and mist from wall to wall, clustering in multitudes under the ceiling, and filling up the corners. Some attempt had been made to organise them, for the large, square room was fitted with a great number of clear glass cabinets; behind those locked doors waited many a melody, bobbing to their own tunes. But the quantity had far outpaced the librarians’ efforts to store them, and the result was a charming chaos. I went through it like a pig in a cake shop, greedily absorbing melody after melody until my ears rang and I could scarce hear myself think.

Jay was just as enchanted as I. ‘Indira has to see this place,’ he enthused, his dark eyes alight.

‘Oh? Is she musical, too?’

‘We all are.’

‘All the Patels? What a talented family you do have.’

‘Music is a skill to be mastered, like any other.’

‘No doubt, but you do seem to have mastered an unusual quantity of skills between you, and at a young age to boot.’

‘I don’t sleep much.’

Neither did Indira, apparently. Was that by choice or happenstance? If by choice: why were they so driven?

And just how many siblings did Jay have, anyway?

Before I could ask any of these questions, though — once again displaying my splendid talent for getting distracted from the main point — a dry voice interrupted us. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’

So absorbed had we been, we had failed to notice that a large chair in one corner was occupied. It hadn’t even occurred to us that we might find someone else in the library. My parents were having a low-voiced argument in another part of the room, but they, too, stopped mid-sentence and observed the librarian in surprise.

If librarian she was. She had an appearance to draw the eye, being shorter even than me, and withered, but in the way that ancient trees are withered. Her skin was dark, dark brown, almost black, and her eyes the same; her hair, though, was an airy white, and drifted about her head like wisps of summer cloud. She was wearing a pair of old grey jeans, with a long cardigan over the top that looked hand-knitted. Hardly could she have been more different from the elegant Yllanfalen, or more incongruous a presence in that room of ethereal melody and magick.

I looked for signs of hostility in her face, or her tone, but there was none. Her eyes smiled at us, and I wondered what she had found so amusing in our behaviour.

‘We’ve come about the lyre,’ I said, when neither of my parents seemed disposed to explain themselves.

‘The lyre?’ said she.

‘The moonsilver lyre. Lyre of kings and queens.’

‘Has it come back, then?’ she said, with interest but without surprise. ‘It’s about time.’

‘Is it? I thought it was no longer welcome here. Was it not thrown away?’

‘Aye! And a greater piece of foolishness I cannot think of.’

‘Well,’ said my father, and held out the lyre. ‘Here it is. If you know how to mend it, I beg you’d assist us, for we can find nothing in this mess.’

The amusement gleamed more brightly in her eyes, and white teeth flashed in a grin. ‘Rather a shambles, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘But it’s a pretty mess, for all that. Was it the king’s old songs you wanted?’

‘Any that it used to sing, before it was changed. I thought that might help.’

‘Changed?’ The withered woman tilted her head. ‘Has it been?’

‘Naturally,’ said father. ‘For it would never otherwise have chosen me.’

‘Would it not?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Ah. You are unqualified, in some obscure way, for the role.’

‘In every way, I would say.’

‘But it seems the lyre would not.’

‘It was not… thinking clearly, if we may suppose that it thinks.’

Her head tilted again. ‘Was it not?’

Father grew impatient. ‘You cannot tell me the Old King’s Moonsilver Lyre deliberately chose a human to fill his shoes.’

‘I will not, then, if the idea offends you.’ She was laughing again.

‘It offended the Yllanfalen.’

‘It offended some of them. If the lyre did not mind it, then why should you?’

Father set the lyre onto a table, and gave a great, weary sigh. ‘I don’t want to be king of this place.’

‘Ahhh. Then we get to the real trouble.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Few are given the right to choose their own course in life. Our paths are as much chosen for us, as by us.’

‘I’m choosing not to take this one,’ said Father firmly.

The withered woman nodded. ‘And you’d like the lyre to choose someone else.’

‘Yes. I’ve been hiding from the damned thing for thirty years, and my daughter imagines it might be possible to stop.’

Those bright black eyes flicked to me, and stayed there.

I tried to look wise and innocent in equal measure, and probably failed equally too. ‘That and I thought the Yllanfalen might like to have a king again.’

‘They have done very well without one.’

‘Have they, though? Look at this place. Abandoned, ignored. All their ancient culture is seeping away, and they’re letting it go.’

‘If that is their choice, why does it matter to you?’

‘I protect culture, and tradition, and history. It is my job, my purpose… I don’t understand why a people would let theirs slip away like this. I cannot believe that they really wish it.’

‘Perhaps they don’t, at that.’ The woman leapt out of her chair, so suddenly as to startle me, and I took an involuntary step back. She seemed overflowing with energy, despite her apparently advanced age, and I felt in that moment that she could achieve anything. ‘Let us try to mend a culture, then, shall we? And see what comes of it.’

‘Who exactly are you?’ snapped my mother. ‘Do you have aid to give, or just weighty words?’

‘She’s a sprite,’ said Father.

The sprite cackled in a fashion I found decidedly unspriteish. ‘I am Cadence,’ she said. ‘I and my sisters can help you find the Old King’s songs.’

‘Sisters?’ said Father faintly.

‘I am Descant,’ said a second voice.

‘And I am Euphony,’ said a third.

I whirled to find two more sprites appeared out of nowhere: both shorter still than Cadence, one with skin as purple as a ripe beet, and the other as pale as me. I could not guess which was which. They were both ancient; an unforgiving fairy tale would have termed them haggish. But they were as merry and quick as their sister, and as sharp, I judged.

To my surprise, these two bowed before my father and said: ‘Majesty.’

‘I’m not your king,’ he growled.

Their eyes strayed to the lyre sitting meekly atop the nearby table. ‘But the lyre says—’

‘And should a pile of enchanted metal make all your important decisions for you?’ he said.

‘It is the way of things,’ said the pale one (Descant?)

‘Hush, Euphony,’ said Cadence. ‘It is unwise to argue with kings.’

‘But you did! A moment ago! I heard you.’

‘Aye! And it is the king’s will that I shut my mouth and bend my wits to the task at hand.’ Her laughter was back, squarely directed at my father.

‘The sooner then you may be rid of me,’ said Father calmly.

‘We don’t want to be rid of you,’ said Descant. ‘It’s dull here all alone. We want the music back.’

‘You have every imaginable strain and song in here.’ Father gestured vaguely at the plethora of magickal musics drifting every which way. ‘Is this not enough for you?’

‘They are echoes,’ Descant replied. ‘Like memories. Imagine if you had only memory left, nothing real—’

‘I would love for you to have your kingdom back the way it was,’ Father interrupted. ‘But not with me at the head of it. I will do everything I can to help you replace me. Fair?’

Descant looked ready to argue, but a warning look from Cadence silenced her, and she bowed her head. ‘Only it is perfectly king-shaped already,’ she muttered rebelliously, almost too quietly to be heard.

‘It is!’ said Euphony. ‘Tall enough, to be sure! And the lyre loves it.’

‘It does not love the lyre.’

‘It is a fool.’

‘Shall we want a fool for a king?’

‘Why should a fool not be a king? It has come about before.’

‘But is it a good king? Shall we want one that is not a fool?’

‘A wise fool? A merry fool?’

‘A cross fool! Look at the face. It despises us.’

Father took a breath. ‘Can we just get on with it? Please? I’ve a book to finish.’

Cadence waved her sisters to silence. ‘The old king’s old songs. Old, old, old. Find them all.’

‘Is it better to be old?’ whispered Descant. ‘If so, we’re in a fine space, sisters.’

‘Always better,’ said Euphony wisely. ‘The King says so.’

‘I didn’t say that—’ protested Father. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

Mother, to my surprise, laughed. ‘I like you,’ she said to the sprites.’

‘It is missing a hand,’ said Euphony to Cadence, and waved about both of her own. ‘How does it play?’

‘It doesn’t,’ said mother. ‘But then it never did, particularly. It’s my daughter that’s the musical one. And she’s got the king’s pipes, look.’

All three sprites surveyed me, with expressions deeply thoughtful, and — speculative.

‘Shall we have this one for the king, then?’ said Descant.

‘It looks merry enough,’ said Euphony.

Cadence smiled broadly at me.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I said, for my father’s words seemed to sum up the situation nicely. ‘Can we all please get off that idea?’

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