The Book of Lies (14 page)

“You’re right, there’s nothing I can do about the ring,” he conceded, splaying his fingers in front of him to catch the glint of the shiny gold. “I have to go back.”

“At least give him a sword,” Fergus insisted.

“We cannot spare one,” growled Hector.

“But he must have something. There are wolves out there,” Fergus went on.

“Well, it seems you have an ally, Marcel,” said Starkey, raising a bemused eyebrow. “He’s right, too. Hector, give the boy your sword.”

“But –”

“Do as I say,” Starkey snapped, but he seemed to think better of this approach and immediately dropped the harshness from his voice. “You’re the best archer I’ve ever seen, Hector, and that will have to be enough. Now, give him your sword.”

Such praise chased the scowl from Hector’s face, but he still wasn’t happy as he drew his sword and tossed it in the dirt beside Marcel.

“The matter is settled, then. You’ll leave as soon as your wound has been seen to,” Starkey declared.

This job was left to Nicola. She had watched Hector tend Starkey’s hand earlier, and now she tore the shredded sleeve of Marcel’s shirt to get at the wound, just like an expert. “It’s not too serious,” she assured him.

When she had tied the bandage around his arm and knotted it in place, Marcel looked down to inspect her handiwork. Impressed, he touched it gingerly with his other hand, but immediately found himself staring at his little finger. “Damn this ring. I’ve tried to yank it free so many times, it’s a wonder my whole finger hasn’t come off”

He laughed to himself, realising what he’d just said. “Now
that
would be a trick to play on Lord Alwyn, don’t you think?”

Nicola was puzzled by the odd expression on his face, part grim determination, part bald fear, as he said over and over to himself, “What a trick it would be…what a trick…”

His mind created the scene: a truly horrible picture, he had to admit, but if he could actually do it, if he had the courage, then he’d set himself free.

How could he manage it, though? He’d need something to do it with. His eyes fell on to Hector’s sword, so recently laid at his feet. It was
his
sword now.

But he could not do what he was planning by himself. He would need someone to help him. Nicola would be no use. That left Fergus.

Starkey and Hector were busy separating some provisions for Marcel to take on his journey back to Fallside. There was a
chance to slip away. “I need your help,” he whispered to Fergus.

“Meet me in a minute or so behind those trees,” and he nodded to show the direction. With that, he picked up the heavy sword.

Just the sight of its blade so close made the colour drain from his face. No, don’t think, he told himself. Get moving.

Perplexed, Fergus watched him slip away, but this seemed yet another promise of adventure so he followed soon afterwards, making sure he was not seen.

“What are we going to do?” he asked eagerly when he joined Marcel behind the screen of trees.

“You’ll see,” whispered Marcel, relieved to hear a certain determination in his own simple reply. “Here, take the sword,” he said, pressing the handle into Fergus’s hands.

Marcel led him deeper into the forest until he spotted a tree stump that seemed to suit his purpose. But when he looked back at Fergus, brandishing the sword, his mouth went dry.

“What’s all this about, Marcel?”

“I’m going to make sure Termagant can’t find me.”

“But the ring, there’s no way you can get rid of it.”

“Yes, there is. That’s why we’re here. We’re going to cut it off.”

“But it’s a magical ring. Nothing in the world will cut through that metal.”

“It’s not the metal we have to cut through.”

This made no sense to Fergus, until he saw Marcel’s face and finally understood what he was planning. “No, you can’t do it! The pain!”

“Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.”

“How can you joke about it? You must be mad! Your own finger!”

“It’s the only way to get the ring off my hand.”

Fergus had shown his own courage against the wolves, yet now he confessed to Marcel, “If it were me… I don’t think I could do it.” Holding the sword carefully by the blade, he offered the handle to Marcel.

“No, I can’t do it myself. That’s why I gave the sword to you. You have to cut the finger off for me.”

Fergus’s face went even whiter than Marcel’s. “I can’t.”

“You’re the only one who can. Come on, quickly, before they realise we’ve disappeared.”

“No.”

Marcel goaded him. “You’re the one who wants to be a soldier. You want to be a hero – well, here’s your chance.”

“It’s not the same. I’d rather fight a hundred wolves than do this.”

“Do it, Fergus! Do it now.”

With grim resolve, Marcel knelt beside the tree stump and folded back the rest of his fingers. Just the smallest was left, laid out across the rough surface. The ring glinted in the afternoon light that filtered through the beech trees.

Part of his mind screamed in protest. It wasn’t worth it. He would go back to Fallside as they wanted him to, then one day Starkey would return to set him free.

No, he told himself. I can’t leave the danger to others. This might be the only way I’ll ever find out who I am. For some reason, he thought of Bea, and felt that her bravery in bringing him the Book of Lies was greater than anything he was doing now. “Come on, Fergus, hurry,” he urged.

“I can’t do this!” Fergus wailed.

Then, as Marcel watched, he made himself look down at the ring and the blade of the sword and his own trembling hands. “I’ll try,” he whispered hoarsely.

A noise behind them made their heads turn. There was a flash of coloured clothing.

“Now,” Marcel hissed. “Before they find us. Come on. If you lose your nerve, so will I.”

Fergus hoisted the blade until it hovered above his head. Then it was moving, scything down through the air, the cutting edge hungry for its target. It struck a clean and solid blow. A scream pierced the air, the echoes bouncing chaotically against the rocks and massive tree trunks until the sound oozed around them like blood.

It was Nicola they had seen through the trees. She had spotted Fergus with the sword raised, seen it flash downwards, and it was her scream that had split the silence of the forest.

But Marcel’s hand was still pressed against the edge of the stump. The sword’s blade was buried in the wood. It had missed his finger by the breadth of a hair.

“What are you doing?” Nicola yelled at them both.

“It has to come off,” Marcel replied, now fierce in his determination. “It’s the only way to get rid of the ring.” He switched his attention to Fergus. “Again,” he demanded. “And this time, don’t miss.”

“No!” Nicola roared at him. She grabbed Fergus and tried to pull him away. The sword clattered to the ground and Marcel feared his chance had gone. Starkey must have heard Nicola’s scream and would surely try to stop them.

Marcel picked up the sword, gripping it tightly despite the pain in his arm from the wolf’s bite. He raised it as best he could, moving his other hand into position beneath him and knowing with a steel-hard certainty that he would do it – he would do anything to see that hated ring gone from his hand.

It was at this very instant that the ring moved. Or, at least, he thought it had moved. When he looked down he saw it still gleaming, taunting him to carry out what he had so far failed to do. There was no going back. He took a tighter grip on the sword.

But now he was sure the ring had moved. It had slipped down over the first knuckle. He shifted his hand and saw it fall a little further, until it rested against the second knuckle. He laid the sword aside, poking at the ring with his other hand, and it fell from his finger to lie harmlessly in the centre of the stump.

“The ring has come off!” he shouted, as relief flooded through him. “I’m free!”

F
ERGUS AND NICOLA STARED
down at the ring in disbelief. “But all those times you tried!” protested Nicola. “How could it simply
fall off?
”

Starkey came running through the trees, his sword in one hand and that pitiless dagger in the other. “What are you three up to? There was a scream.” He followed their eyes and soon he too was gazing down in amazement at the ring.

“It just slipped off, as though it was never meant to be there,” said Marcel, at a loss to explain.

“Oh, it was meant to be there, all right,” Starkey assured him, “but Alwyn is a trickster, like all magicians. There must have been a key. Some words.”

Marcel looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Some magic cannot be undone, but a curse like that ring is different. Such a spell is never cast without some way to unravel it. What did he say to you when he first made you put it on?”

Marcel thought back to those terrifying moments after the horse race when he found Termagant circling him, growling and spitting, ready to snap him in two at the slightest signal from her master. Snatches of Lord Alwyn’s goading came back to him.
The true test is whether you find the courage to remove that ring.

“It wasn’t what I
said
,” he murmured. “It was what I tried to
do.
I was really going to do it, you see. I was going to cut off my own finger.”

Starkey eyed him suspiciously for a moment, though there was an unmistakable gleam of admiration in his flinty gaze. “You’re a determined one, I’ll grant you that, Marcel. Well, there’s no need to send you back now. You may as well join us after all.”

This was just what Marcel had hoped for. Starkey was inviting him to go with them!

Before any of them could react, Starkey snatched up the ring and hurled it far into the forest. “Get your things,” he ordered Marcel, “and you’d better give that sword back to Hector.” He looked up at the fading sun. “Come on, all of you. We must push on. We have a long way to go before nightfall.”

Marcel went to get the Book of Lies, which he had left back where Hector was waiting for them. His pace had begun to quicken, when he stopped mid-step.

Bea! Bea was still out there in the forest with Gadfly! He was suddenly ashamed that he had not given her a thought since rushing off to find Fergus. Just as suddenly, he was running, anxious to reach Starkey, who was striding purposefully onwards. “Wait! There’s something I haven’t told you,” he called.

Starkey turned, folding his arms across his chest impatiently as he waited for Marcel to explain.

“My escape from the orphanage,” he began tentatively. “I had help. A little girl came with me from the orphanage. We escaped on a horse named Gadfly.”

Starkey didn’t like the sound of this. “Where are they now, this girl and the horse?”

“I left them a little way back on the path.”

Starkey ordered Hector to stay with the other two. Marcel led him to where the two speckled trunks were entwined and grew as one. But there was no sign of either Bea or Gadfly.

“Bea!” he called, expecting her to appear, but the only reply to his cry was the cawing of a crow that flew low overhead.

“Your little friend has run off and left you.”

“No, you don’t know this girl like I do. She wouldn’t abandon me.”

But where was she? A dreadful thought came to him. “You don’t think that the wolves have…”

Starkey considered this possibility with a coolness that seemed part of his nature. “No, not the wolves,” he said after inspecting the ground around them. “There’s no sign of their paw prints. Face it, Marcel, the girl became frightened when she heard the wolves attacking you and she took the horse back to Fallside. Come on, we can’t delay any longer. The others are waiting.”

Marcel just couldn’t believe that Bea would leave him to the wolves, but at the same time, he wondered how much she had seen. Had she been watching, minutes earlier, when the ring fell from his finger? If she had, then she knew he was free to join Nicola and Fergus now. There was nothing more she could do to help him. Had she climbed on to Gadfly and gone back to face Lord Alwyn alone? He shuddered at the thought, yet Bea was the only person he knew who was brave enough to do just that.

“Well?” Starkey prompted him, impatiently.

He felt his lips move and heard his own voice, fretting already at how much he might come to regret his words. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

They returned to where the others were waiting to set off again, ignoring their quizzical looks. Marcel returned the sword to Hector. The sack containing the Book of Lies lay just where he had left it. When he lifted it to his shoulder, Starkey called out, “What’s in there?”

He had to think quickly. He didn’t feel sure enough of Starkey to reveal the prize he had brought with him yet. “It’s
food.” Yes, that sounded right. “It’s food I stole from Mrs Timmins.”

Immediately he felt the Book stir inside the leather bag, straining and bucking, trying to open its pages. But to his relief, it settled again before anyone noticed.

“Bring it with us, then; there’s little enough food in Hector’s pack, what with those blankets,” Starkey growled, and without looking back, he set out after the others.