The White Fox (17 page)

It took Jack a moment to realize that Adâ and Lucy were nowhere to be seen. He scanned the valley for them and spotted them passing between two of the mining pits. Wondering why neither of them had stopped to marvel at the view, he sprinted down the incline after them.

A few minutes later he caught up, panting heavily. Typically, Adâ didn’t give him a second’s acknowledgment.

Lucy turned back to keep pace with him. “Where do you think this is?” she whispered. She sounded scared, though definitely not on the same level that she had been in the mansion. This place didn’t look overtly dangerous, but they could be wandering into anything.

“No idea,” Jack replied.

As they continued walking, he looked around. The cliffs, the mountains, and the tower of rock seemed even taller from down here. Now he could just about see the figures working around the mines. They
were
several hundred feet away on either side, but still they all seemed short, only about five feet high. Their faces had a healthy glow and were quite tanned from working in the sun. They were wearing assorted tunics, gloves, and boots, mostly russets and mahoganies. They, like Adâ, were dressed highly anachronistically; Jack was reminded of pictures in textbooks of peasants on medieval farms. Moreover, they were not operating shining futuristic equipment like that on
The Golden Turtle
. There seemed to be only wooden pulleys with rocks and rope, with no electricity at all. And, he now realized, he had not seen anything like a telecom pylon to suggest any electricity since they’d arrived.

The trio of elongated shadows flickered over the uneven rock as they neared the gigantic stone doorway. It was flanked by several more short people, wearing fern-green tunics with bronze shoulder pads and gauntlets, looking even more like medieval militia. They were all holding double-bladed axes with exceptionally sharp edges.

“Yes?” the guard challenged. He spoke in what on Earth would have been something like a Scandinavian accent, but, of course, the language rings translated.

“Adâ Sharif,” Adâ proclaimed, stopping a foot clear of the door, “here to see the king.”

Jack saw the guards exchanging dark looks.

“And who are these two?” grunted one of the guards after a moment, passing Adâ and staring at Lucy in a menacing way. The ten-inch deficiency in height didn’t seem to inhibit him.

“My nephew and niece,” Adâ answered shortly.

Jack and Lucy both turned to her, alarmed, but she gave them a look that made them hold what they had been about to say. Jack was sure that Lucy was thinking exactly the same thing that he was.

“Do they have an invitation from the king?” the guard asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

“As a matter of fact, they do.” And with a (rather unnecessary) flourish she pulled a thick piece of parchment from her tunic and handed it to the guard.

He examined the writing and wax seal. “Very well,” he said, giving it back to her. “They can go.”

Adâ removed her gaze from him and stepped towards the door.

Another guard raised his axe and thrust the butt onto a raised panel in the ground. Out of the gigantic gate creaked open a small door, just over five feet high and at least that much thick.

Adâ rolled her eyes and bent over to shuffle through it. Lucy followed her, and as Jack did so he thought he heard the guard muttering something about the impertinence of elves. Jack couldn’t help silently agreeing.

The inside of the rock was not at all like the tunnel they had just come through. They emerged into an enormous chamber, though a cave was probably a more accurate description. The walls were the rock that this city was carved out of, and the floor was paced with smooth flagons. Brackets in the walls housed more flickering torches, and huge carved pillars supported the cavernous ceiling.

Patterns, symbols, scenes of battles and glorious victories were engraved into the columns, the ceiling, the floor. In the center of the chamber, a raised octagonal roundel encircled by runes depicted a feast, where figures crowded around a gargantuan roasted ram set upon a table. This was illuminated by light issuing from a gaping hole in the ceiling. This sight only added to the impression that they had wandered into a kind of alternative Middle Ages European community, the chamber a monument to the achievements of craftsmen, warriors, and kings.

Adâ led them past numerous hallways. Despite the lack of windows, crevasses in the rock let in jets of evening sunlight, forming jagged patterns on the flagons. The area surged with many more of these strangely short people, most in simple cotton tunics, carrying baskets of food and grain, piles of parchment or crates. Many were clustered in the hallways, looking more like refugees than miners, with their thickly layered worn clothes, carts laden with possessions, and small children playing and chasing each other.

More guards were posted resolutely at various entranceways or else attempting to marshal some order amongst those waiting around.

Through the throng of people, the three of them head and shoulders above the crowd, Adâ led them towards a door at the opposite end of the chamber.

This was a smaller, more refined corridor, devoid of the crowds. Meticulously woven vermillion carpet ran to the very end, flanked by more pillars. At the other end of the chamber were double doors made of more grey stone and carved with the same axe and star pattern. In between each pillar was a plinth, on which rested a bust of a solemn-looking male, staring, pupil-less, into the distance.

They reached the end and stopped. Two guards in green tunics stood before them, their axes lolling lazily in their grasp. One looked ancient, with a white beard reaching down to his boots. The other was younger, his hair bright ginger, but no less intimidating.

“Adâ Sharif here to see the king,” Adâ repeated.

The ancient-looking guard nodded slowly and held out a gloved hand.

Adâ passed over the letter, and he glanced over it.

“Very well,” he croaked shakily, indicating the closed stone door behind him.

All three stepped forward, but as Jack was about to pass the other guard, an axe shot out at lightning speed, narrowly missing his chest. He could have sworn it sheared threads off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” the ginger guard said angrily. His voice was much higher than they had expected, so much so that all three stared for a moment before answering.

“We’re going to see the king,” Jack volunteered hopefully.

“The king is in council with his advisers. No
youths
”—the guard put a lot of negative emphasis on the word—”may pass here without his permission.”

“Oh, shut up,” the old guard said dismissively. “They’re with Lady Sharif.” He beamed toothlessly at Adâ, who returned it with an incline of her head.

The ginger guard looked scandalized but removed his axe.

Jack and Lucy passed. As Adâ opened the double doors, Lucy whispered so the guards couldn’t hear, “I think he has a thing for you.”

Adâ ignored her and walked in.

This room was much smaller but also well lit; another crack above them threw a twisted amber shape downwards. A tall throne of dyed oak, engraved with a multitude of symbols, rose near the back of the chamber. Sitting on it was the king. An undecorated circlet of bronze was his crown. He looked fairly young, although there were flecks of grey in his blond beard and his face held the hint of wrinkles to come. His eyes were dark and his brow strong—they seemed to emanate not only his penetrating sight but that of all his royal ancestors in busts in the corridor outside.

Despite the fact that they seemed to be looking at a member of a historical re-creation society, Jack, and he knew Lucy felt the same, was overcome with an impulse to bow, but Adâ wasn’t bothering with such traditions, so they just stood awkwardly behind her. Their glance confirmed that they were both feeling just as ridiculous in their strange mixture of clothing.

Others sat around an octagonal stone table on hide-coated chairs. These people were also clothed in medieval garb but each in a different kind—one in thick overalls holding huge gloves, several with more ruddy complexions and finer woollen cloaks, and one in a more decorated version of the guards’ armor. There were also three empty seats. One person, with an extremely long beard in a green and red tunic, was standing up, and a scribe in the corner scribbled on a roll of parchment.

The table was completely covered in what appeared to be an archaic bird’s-eye view map on parchment, filled with mountains, dotted and dashed pathways, several twisting rivers. Small wooden figu-rines, dyed alternately in crimson and grey, were grouped around the landscape. The person in the red and green tunic was indicating areas on the map with a short cane. He seemed to be presenting a report.

The king glanced at them and motioned them to wait.

Adâ hung back, Jack and Lucy at her elbows like naughty children.

“… therefore, given the predictions of our scouts, an attack is most likely to be launched from the north.”

“Thank you, Ràth,” the king said solemnly in a Scandinavian accent as thick as his guards’. “We will hold another progress report tomorrow. Until then.”

One by one, the advisers stood up, bowed, and left.

The king’s brow furrowed. “Most worrying.” He appeared to consider the matter a moment longer, then shook his head and got down off his throne. “Nevertheless, we shouldn’t concern ourselves with that now.” He exchanged a cordial nod with Adâ. Closer up, he looked exhausted, his eyes sunken and a pallid complexion that suggested he’d lost his natural glow to weeks of sleepless nights. “So these are the ones we’re looking after for the time being, then.”

“Yes.” Adâ pursed her lips and glanced at Jack and Lucy.

“That’s no great hardship,” the king said, giving them a smile in strong contrast to Adâ’s coolness. “As you may have surmised, I am King Thengel Thorin. This is the land of my forefathers. I would give you a proper welcome tour to Thorin Salr, though I am afraid your timing isn’t the best. You will have seen we’re not in an entirely secure position at the moment.”

Lucy looked like she was about to elaborate loudly and sarcastically about being very sorry they couldn’t have chosen a better time to get involved in an occult ritual and that they’d come back at a more convenient date. Jack put his hand on her arm warningly. She shrugged it off but said nothing.

“What
is
all this?” Adâ asked, gesturing backwards at the way they had come. “I was gone for only one week.”

Through the open door, the thick crowd was still visible in the next chamber.

“The next set of precautions, I’m afraid. Things have got considerably worse since you left. We have scouting parties out all over the mountains, and regiments of soldiers have been dispatched to evacuate the villages. We’re having enough problems as it is housing
our
people without having to bring the entire kingdom into one valley. Still, war is war.” He sighed. “Did you have any problems with greenskins on your way up?”

Adâ quickly related their encounter with the reptilian creatures, though she left out the part about one sprouting wings. Jack would have pointed this out, but a few painstaking hours in Adâ’s company had already taught him that keeping his mouth shut was good for him in most situations.

“That
is
worrying,” Thorin said, stroking his beard absentmindedly.

“Any word from Sardâr?” Adâ ventured after a moment.

“None, I’m afraid,” the king replied. He looked genuinely worried but checked his expression almost immediately. “But let us concern ourselves with that tomorrow. It grows late. I shall get someone to show you to your rooms.” He snapped his fingers. Out of nowhere came a woman in a green tunic, clothed far more brightly than most of the people in the hall outside.

“Please escort our guests to their chambers.”

The woman nodded, smiling, and beckoned the three of them to the door.

“So why are we here again?” Lucy asked indignantly. “Have we really just been moved into a war zone?”

There was a pause, in which the king glanced from Adâ to Lucy awkwardly. “Um … well … that is to say … the situation was not
fully
anticipated … The plan was originally …” He stared at Adâ pleadingly.

Jack couldn’t quite suppress a smile that this evidently powerful monarch was being ordered around by a teenage girl who currently looked slightly like a kissogram.

“It’s alright, Thengel,” Adâ said darkly. “I’ll deal with them.”

Lucy glared at the king as they were led out of the room.

Jack followed, not feeling entirely confident that they would live to hear an explanation tomorrow.

Within a few minutes, they were in Lucy’s room. The medieval theme of this place had clearly been hammered down to perfection; a series of old-fashioned candles had been placed around the chamber, sending flickering, angular patterns across the concave ceiling. The floor, like outside, was set with large, cold flagons, covered in thick rugs and furs. A chair, also covered in some kind of animal skin, sat between the wooden bed and a delicately engraved clothes chest, and an alcove led to a small bathroom. One wall was entirely occupied by a tall window, set into the surrounding rock. The view across the valley was deep grey, the mountains only just visible against a slightly brighter shade of indigo. The whole room and its three occupants were reflected in a tall mirror next to the chair, looking like the set of a period drama.