Deep Amber (10 page)

Dora nodded. “They feel like it,” she said. “And the Druid said that they were. He wanted the palace to know so they could do something about it. And that was when he thought there were only two. From what Caractacus said, three is even more serious.”

“I wish we could go there,” said Jem, dreamily. “To the other world. Maybe we could help. Maybe they'll ask us to go… What do you think, Dora?”

“I think we need to worry about getting into the palace first,” said Dora, firmly. “That's what we were sent here for, and unless we get the message to Lord Ravenglass, no one's going to be doing
anything
to help.”

Jem nodded, and they returned to thinking of ways to get past the gate guards.

It was midnight before they were close to a plan, and even then it was one Dora was not at all happy about.

“Look, it's fine,” said Jem, exasperated. “I'll slip past the gate guards while you ask them some question or other, and then I'll just sneak around the palace till I find Lord Ravenglass. No one will see me.”

“But anything could happen!” objected Dora. “You could get stepped on. Or eaten by a dog. Or – anything! It's too dangerous!”

Jem rolled his eyes. “You're so
wet
, Dora! It's an adventure! It's a chance for a bit of glory!”

Dora snorted. “What – so you can show off to your friends when we get back? So you can impress Violet Wetherby with your daring?”

Jem frowned. “Violet Wetherby? Why in all the kingdom would I want to impress
her
?”

“I thought you – well, she said all those things when we were leaving. About you bringing her back a present,” said Dora, confused.

Jem made a face. “Violet Wetherby is a flibbertigibbet and a nasty piece of work besides,” he said firmly. “I wouldn't bring her back a
slug
, not even if she begged me on bended knees.”

“Really?” said Dora, feeling absurdly pleased.

“Of course!” said Jem. “Honestly – Violet Wetherby? Please! And now can we agree that I ought to sneak into the palace? After all, it's your fault I'm smaller than a dandelion. I ought at least to get a chance to do something that makes it worthwhile.”

Dora hesitated, then nodded.

“All right. Maybe it is the only way. We'll go back to the palace first thing in the morning. But Jem – you'll need to be careful! And if you don't get anywhere by midday, just come back to the gate – I'll wait for you there.”

“Don't look so worried, Dora,” said Jem, grinning. “It'll be easy. Lord Ravenglass will probably be so impressed he'll make me a knight on the spot!”

Several hours later, crouching in a shadow by the corner of a tapestry, Jem was wondering if Dora had been right after all. Finding his way through the palace when he was smaller than a weed and couldn't ask directions was turning out to be a bit like trying to find your way through the Great Forest with objects from another world in
your pack – difficult, dangerous and likely to end badly. So far he'd managed to avoid being stepped on, but it had been a close call a couple of times.

Jem peered out from behind the tapestry at the legs passing swiftly past him. He seemed to be in a passage somewhere near the kitchens – a large number of brightly liveried servants were hurrying to and fro with plates and trays, and there was a strong smell of food. Unfortunately, there was also a faint sound of dogs barking, and Jem had a nasty feeling it was getting closer. He crept further along the passageway, trying to keep to the shadows. He had no idea what time it was, but it must be getting near midday. He thought of Dora, sitting outside the castle gates waiting for him, and wondered if he'd ever see her again.

Suddenly, he froze. The sound of barking was now much, much closer. It sounded like several dogs, all chasing each other, and he was pretty sure they were all heading straight this way.

Jem looked behind him, and swore. At least three hounds were tearing down the passage, snapping at each other's heels, and one of them had already knocked a servant flying. A large silver platter was somersaulting Jem's way,
and various bits of meat and pastries were heading in every direction around it.

Jem did the only thing he could think of – he ran. Down the passageway, avoiding the bits of flying food, dodging in between the running legs and hoping the yelps he could hear behind him were the dogs getting what they deserved from the angry swarm of servants. He spotted an archway to his left and sprinted through it, only to run straight into what seemed like a wall of solid grey cloth.

“Aaargh!” came a shriek from above him, and he stumbled backwards, almost losing his balance. “A mouse! In my skirts… It's a… No, it's a… Aaarggh! It's
horrible
!”

Nuts, thought Jem. It's a
girl
. Must be one of the kitchen maids or something. He looked round swiftly for somewhere to hide but the room was quite bare, except for a few buckets in one corner and some boxes of vegetables. Jem dived head first into a pile of lettuces and burrowed down as far as he could – but it sounded like the girl's shrieks had brought a search party.

“Where's the nasty thing?” came a deeper voice, as the box Jem was in was shifted across the
floor so they could look behind it. “I'll not have creatures in my kitchen. Fetch Fred!”

Jem kept as still as he could and hoped Fred was short-sighted. But his luck wasn't in. Fred, it turned out, was a dog – and he had a very good sense of smell. It wasn't long before he was scratching at the box where Jem was hiding, and his snuffling whining muzzle was very close indeed to Jem's head.

Then a meaty hand reached into the box, and Jem was grabbed by the hair and pulled out of the lettuces.

“Urgh!” said the deep voice. “It's a dirty stable boy, magicked smaller than a duckling. That'll be those pesky apprentice wizards again. Put the lad in a cupboard somewhere safe. He's evidence. I'm going to have their guts this time!”

Jem waved his legs wildly and yelled, “I'm not a stable boy. I've got a message. For Lord Ravenglass. It's important! He'll be
furious
if you put me in a cupboard!”

The voice raised Jem up to its face, and Jem saw that it was large, and red, with a bristling black moustache. He had a feeling both voice and face probably belonged to the chief cook.

“Lord Ravenglass, eh?” said the red-faced man with a deep chuckle. “Well, then, better take you up to his Lordship immediately. But I hope for your sake your message is important, boy. Because Lord Ravenglass has got a nasty temper, and a lot of magic. You might find worse happening to you than being put in a cupboard!”

Chapter Ten

Simon was bored. Cat was now completely focused on working out how to get into the box, and she didn't want his help. She was sitting at the kitchen table, still in her dressing-gown and pyjamas, with her head bent over the book of ancient symbols. Every time Simon tried to say anything, she waved him away crossly.

Simon eventually gave up and wandered into the living room. But then he thought about the sword, tucked away safely in the cellar. He had been aching to get hold of it again ever since it had been removed and firmly put away. He had a feeling the sword was as much of a clue to what was going on as the box. With Mum away and Cat distracted, now seemed like a very good opportunity to take a better look at it.

Simon crept carefully to the cellar, gently took the sword down from the shelf it was lying on, and tiptoed back to the living room. He weighed the sword in his hand, then took it by the handle and tried a few preliminary sweeps through the air. It made a very satisfactory swishing sound.

Simon adjusted his stance, moving his feet slightly further apart and clasping the sword firmly in both hands. There was something about the weight and smoothness of the hilt that just seemed completely right, as if the sword were an extension of his arm. He swept the sword diagonally down, and then quickly reversed his grip and brought it across his body, imagining it clanging against the shield of an armoured opponent. He made a few swift passes, back and forth. Then he raised it above his head, and brought it swiftly downwards onto an imaginary opponent's shield.

The sword sliced through the arm of the sofa with a wrenching, splitting sound that travelled right down the hall and into the kitchen. Simon, horrified at what he'd done, looked up to see Cat standing in the doorway with her arms folded, eyebrows raised.

“You do realise Mum's going to kill you, don't you?” she said, in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Umm… yes,” said Simon, wondering how many weeks' pocket-money would be enough to pay for a sofa. He tried to pick the sofa arm up and stick it back in the right place. It stayed there for a heartbeat, but then it sagged and toppled to the ground again, a forlorn dribble of stuffing spilling out onto the carpet.

“Lovely,” said Cat. “Maybe you'd better put the sword back where it belongs – in the cellar.”

“Mmm,” said Simon and followed her back to the kitchen, but despite the damage he'd done, he had no intention of putting the sword back. There had been something that nagged at the corner of his brain as he used it – he needed to try it out again so he could work out what it was. As Cat settled back in front of the rune book, he banged the cellar door as if he'd gone down there, and then waited quietly for a couple of minutes. When she seemed thoroughly absorbed, he slipped past her and into the garden, the sword hidden behind his back.

The sun was shining, and there was a line of washing strung from the back of the house
across the garden to the old beech tree in the corner, moving slightly as it was lifted by the occasional gust of wind. Simon found a clear space between the garden wall and the washing line and tightly gripped the sword again. He closed his eyes, and imagined himself in the middle of a roaring crowd, fully armoured, a dark figure with sword raised.

He made a few tentative passes, imagining an enemy walking towards him with a heavy tread. Then he opened his eyes and swung the sword up into the air, the sunlight glinting off the shining length of metal. He felt a huge burst of exhilaration – it was as if he could really hear the roars of the crowd around him as he cut and thrust and parried and gradually beat back his imaginary opponent in triumph.

Suddenly there was a harsh cry overhead, and Simon looked up, startled. A black shadow flicked across in front of him, and then he saw another flying in his direction, and another. The shadows came together to form a dense cloud of black crows wheeling across the garden, circling over his head… He thought of the crow's feather that Albert Jemmet had fumigated.

Simon was about to run, but before he could work out which direction to run in, the crows stopped circling and all of them started to dive straight for where he was standing.

Instinct kicked in. His arms came up and the sword flashed. There was a flapping and squawking, but the birds kept coming. Simon swept the big sword round his head, this way and then that, wildly whacking and slashing and whirling round as fast as he could to keep the birds at bay until, with angry cries, they all seemed to give up at the same time and flew off shrieking, leaving Simon panting and alone in the middle of the garden.

He took a deep breath and looked around. Black crow feathers were scattered across the grass, but lying among them, looking muddy and crumpled, was most of the washing that had been drying on the line when he came out. Simon's wild hacking had seen the crows off, but it had also chopped Mum's washing line and most of her washing into several pieces.

Cat was finding it hard to concentrate on the book of symbols. Every time she thought she was getting somewhere, there was another thump
from the cellar. What was Simon
doing
in there? Eventually, after a resounding crash that set all the plates in the kitchen rattling, she got up with a sigh and went to the cellar door.

“What on earth do you think you're—” she began as she opened the door. And then she stopped and gulped, and stepped backwards.

Crashing up the steps out of the cellar and into the kitchen came a large white horse, and following fast behind was a man in a full suit of armour, with a sword.

He looked round rather wildly, then spotted Cat and seemed to relax. He bowed deeply.

“Most beautiful lady, you are surely a rich and powerful princess,” he said, looking appreciatively at the swirling gold patterns of her dressing gown. “It must be your magic that has called me to this strange castle. I am at your service, for whatever task you summoned me for.”

The knight was tall, with curling black hair and blue eyes in a deeply sunburnt face. He was, Cat thought rather distractedly, extremely handsome. She instinctively started to smooth down her hair and rearrange her dressing gown, but then she stopped and blinked. What was she
thinking? The knight had just appeared out of the
cellar
. And there was a
horse
in the kitchen!