Part 30 (1/2)

”Thank you,” she mouthed, while Sam bowed at her side, showing his respect. Finder Finder flapped her sail in answer, then swung about and began to move upstream. Sam, watching carefully, noted that the current in the channel had reversed and was moving north, against the flow of the river. Once again, he wondered how it was done and tried to think of how he could get to look at the Charter Stones that were sunk deep in the riverbed below. Perhaps Lirael would teach him how to make an ice-otter Charter-skin- flapped her sail in answer, then swung about and began to move upstream. Sam, watching carefully, noted that the current in the channel had reversed and was moving north, against the flow of the river. Once again, he wondered how it was done and tried to think of how he could get to look at the Charter Stones that were sunk deep in the riverbed below. Perhaps Lirael would teach him how to make an ice-otter Charter-skin- A touch at his arm broke his reverie, and he turned to pick up his saddlebags and sword. Then he led the way to the gate and pushed it open. As soon as they pa.s.sed through, the noise of the waterfall practically ceased, so Lirael had to listen carefully to hear even a distant roar. She could hear birds in the trees instead, and many bees buzzing past on their way to the peach blossoms. The mist also parted above and around Abhorsen's House, for Lirael stood in suns.h.i.+ne, which quickly dried the spray that had fallen on her face and clothes.

There was a red-brick path ahead, bordered by a lawn and a line of shrubs with clumps of odd, stick-shaped yellow flowers. The path led to the front door of the House, which was painted a cheerful sky blue, bright against the whitewashed stone on either side of it. The House itself seemed normal enough. It was mainly one large building of three or four stories, in addition to the tower. It also had some sort of inner courtyard, too, because Lirael could see birds flying in and out. There were many windows, all quite large, and it exuded comfort and welcome. Clearly Abhorsen's House was not a fortification, relying on means other than architecture for its defense.

Lirael raised her arms to the sun and drank in the clear air, and the faint perfume from the gardens, of flowers and fertile soil and green growing things. She suddenly felt peaceful, and strangely at home, though it was so different from the enclosed tunnels and chambers of the Glacier. Even the gardens in the vast chambers there, with their painted ceilings and Charter-mark suns, could not begin to duplicate the vastness of the blue sky and the true sun.

She exhaled slowly and was about to drop her arms when she saw a small speck high above her. A moment later it was joined by a dark cloud of many somewhat larger things. It took Lirael a few seconds to realize that the smaller speck was a bird that seemed to be diving straight at her, and the larger specks were also birds-or things that flew like birds. At the same time her Death sense twinged, and Sam cried out next to her.

”Gore Crows! They're after a message-hawk!”

”They're actually below it,” said the Dog, her head craned back. ”It's trying to dive through!”

They watched anxiously as the message-hawk fell, zigzagging slightly to try to avoid the Gore Crows. But there were hundreds of them, and they spread across a wide area, so the hawk had no choice but to try to smash through where they were fewest. It selected its point and closed its wings, dropping even faster, as if it were a stone thrown straight down.

”If it makes it through, they won't dare pursue,” said Sam. ”Too close to the river, and the House.”

”Go!” whispered Lirael, staring up at the hawk, willing it to go even faster. It seemed to fall for ages, and she realized it must have been very high indeed. Then all of a sudden it hit the black cloud, and there was an explosion of feathers and Gore Crows hurtling in all directions, while still more flew in. Lirael held her breath. The hawk didn't re-appear. Still the Gore Crows flew in, till there were so many in a small area that they began to collide, and black, broken bodies began to fall.

”They got it,” said Sam slowly. Then he shouted. A small brown bird suddenly dropped out of the swirling ma.s.s of Gore Crows. This time it fell seemingly out of control, lacking the fierce direction and purpose they'd seen before. A few Gore Crows broke off to pursue it, but they had gone only a little way before they pulled up and sheered off, repelled by the force of the river and the protective magics of the House.

The hawk fell further, as if it were dead or stunned. But only forty or fifty feet above the garden, it suddenly spread its wings, breaking its fall just enough to swoop in and land at Lirael's feet. It lay there, feathered breast panting, and the marks of the Gore Crows' attacks obvious in its tattered plumage and bleeding head. But its yellow eyes were still lively, and it hopped easily enough onto Sam's wrist when he bent down and offered it a place on the cuff of his s.h.i.+rt.

”Message for Prince Sameth,” it said, in a voice that was not any bird's. ”Message.”

”Yes, yes,” said Sam soothingly, gently stroking its feathers back into place. ”I am Prince Sameth. Tell me.”

The bird c.o.c.ked its head to one side and opened its beak. Lirael saw the hint of Charter marks there, and she suddenly understood that the bird carried a spell inside it, a spell that was probably cast upon it while it was still in its egg, to grow as it grew.

”Sameth, you idiot, I hope this finds you at the House,” said the message-hawk, its voice changing again. Now it seemed to be a woman. From the tone of voice and the expression on Sam's face, Lirael guessed that it was his sister, Ellimere.

”Father and Mother are still in Ancelstierre. There is greater trouble there than they feared. Corolini is definitely under the influence of someone from the Old Kingdom, and his Our Country Party grows more influential in the Moot. More and more refugees are being moved nearer the Wall. There are also reports of Dead creatures all along the Ratterlin's western sh.o.r.es. I am calling up the Trained Bands and will be marching south to Barhedrin with them and the Guard within two weeks, to try to prevent any crossings. I don't know where you are, but Father says it is essential that you find Nicholas Sayre and return him to Ancelstierre at once, as Corolini claims we have kidnapped him to use as a hostage to influence the Chief Minister. Mother sends her love. I hope you can do something really useful for a change-”

The voice suddenly stopped, having reached the limit of the message-hawk's rather tiny mind. The bird made a peeping sound and started to preen itself.

”Well, let's go in and get cleaned up,” said Sam slowly, though he kept staring at the hawk as if it might speak again. ”The sendings will look after you, Lirael. I guess we should talk about everything at dinner tonight?”

”Dinner!” exclaimed Lirael. ”We'd better talk about it before then. It sounds like we should be off again straightaway.”

”But we only just got here-”

”Yes,” agreed Lirael. ”But there're the Southerlings, and your friend Nicholas is in danger. It may be that every hour counts.”

”Particularly since whoever controls Chlorr and the other Dead knows we're here,” growled the Dog. ”We must move quickly before we are besieged.”

Sam didn't answer for a moment. ”Okay,” he said quickly. ”I'll meet you for lunch in an hour, and we can ... uh ... work out what to do next.”

He stalked off ahead, his limp suddenly becoming noticeably worse, and pushed the front door open. Lirael followed more slowly, her hand loosely draped over the Dog's back. Mogget walked next to them for a few paces, then used the Dog's back to springboard himself onto Lirael's shoulder. She jumped as he landed, but relaxed as she realized he had sheathed his claws. The little cat carefully draped himself around her neck and then seemed to go to sleep.

”I'm so tired,” Lirael said as they stepped over the threshold. ”But we really can't wait, can we?”

”No,” growled the Dog as she looked around the entrance hall, sniffing. There was no sign of Sam, but a sending was retreating with the message-hawk on its gloved hand, and two other sendings were waiting at the foot of the main staircase. They wore long habits of light cream, with deep cowls covering their heads, hiding their lack of faces. Only their hands were visible, pale ghostly hands made of Charter marks, which occasionally sparkled as they moved.

One came forward and bowed deeply to Lirael, then beckoned to her to follow. The other went straight to the Disreputable Dog and took her by the collar. No words were spoken, but both the Dog and Mogget seemed to guess the sending's intentions. Mogget, despite appearing to be asleep, was the first to react. He leapt from Lirael's neck and ran through a cat door under the stairs, displaying a speed and liveliness Lirael hadn't seen before. The Dog was either less quick on the uptake or was less practiced in evading the attentions of the sendings of Abhorsen's House.

”A bath!” she yelped in indignation. ”I'm not having a bath! I swam in the river only yesterday. I don't need a bath!”

”Yes you do,” said Lirael, wrinkling her nose. She looked at the sending and added, ”Please make sure she has one. With soap. And scrubbing.”

”Can I at least have a bone afterwards?” asked the downcast Dog, looking back with pleading eyes as the sending led her away. Anyone would think she was going to prison, or worse, Lirael thought. But she couldn't help herself running over to kiss the hound on the nose.

”Of course you can have a bone, and a big lunch as well. I'm going to have a bath, too.”

”It's different for dogs,” said the Dog mournfully, as the sending opened a door to the inside courtyard. ”We just don't like baths!”

”I do, though,” whispered Lirael, looking down at her sweat-stained clothing and running her fingers through her dirty hair. For the first time she noticed that there was blood on her as well. The blood of innocents. ”A bath and clean clothes. That's what I need.”

The sending bowed again and led her to the stairs. Lirael followed obediently, enjoying the different creaks in each step as they climbed. For the next hour, she thought, I will forget about everything.

But even as she followed the sending, she was thinking of the Southerlings who had tried so hard to escape. Escape the pit where their fellows had been killed and forced into servitude. The pit she had seen, with Nicholas standing alone on a hill of spoil, while a necromancer and his lightning-blackened corpses labored to dig up something that Lirael was sure should never again see the light of day.

Chapter Forty-Four.

Abhorsen's House When Lirael came back downstairs, she was very clean indeed. The sending had proved to be a true believer in scrubbing and plenty of hot water-the latter supplied by hot springs, Lirael guessed, for the first few basins had been accompanied by a nasty sulphurous whiff, exactly as sometimes happened back in the Glacier. back downstairs, she was very clean indeed. The sending had proved to be a true believer in scrubbing and plenty of hot water-the latter supplied by hot springs, Lirael guessed, for the first few basins had been accompanied by a nasty sulphurous whiff, exactly as sometimes happened back in the Glacier.

The sending had put out rather fancy clothes for her, but Lirael had refused them. She put on her spare Librarian's outfit instead. She had worn the uniform for so long that she felt strange without it. At least in her red waistcoat she could feel something like a proper Clayr.

The sending was still trailing after her with a surcoat folded over its arm. It had been quite insistent that she try it on, and Lirael had been hard pressed to explain that waistcoats and surcoats simply didn't go together.

Another sending opened the double doors to the right of the stairs as she came down. The bronze k.n.o.bs were turned by pale spell-hands, hands that stood out in stark relief against the dark oak as the sending pushed the door open. Then the sending moved aside and bowed its cowled head-and Lirael caught her first glimpse of the main hall. It took up at least half the ground floor, but it was not the size that immediately struck Lirael. She was seized with an intense feeling of deja vu as she looked down the length of the hall to the great stained-gla.s.s window that showed the building of the Wall. And there was the long, brilliantly polished table laden with silver, and the high-backed chair.

Lirael had seen all of this before, in the Dark Mirror. Only then the chair had been occupied by the man who was her father.

”There you are,” said Sam from behind her. ”I'm sorry I'm late. I couldn't get the sendings to give me the right surcoat-they've dug up something odd. Must be getting senile, like Mogget said.”

Lirael turned around and looked at his surcoat. It had the golden towers of the royal line, but they were quartered with a strange device she had never seen-some sort of trowel or spade, in silver.

”It's the Wallmakers' trowel,” explained Sam. ”But they've all been gone for centuries. A thousand years at least.... I say, I like your hair,” he added as Lirael continued to stare at him. She wasn't wearing her headscarf. Her black hair was brushed and s.h.i.+ning, and the waistcoat didn't really hide her slender form. She really was very attractive, but something about her now struck him as rather forbidding. Whom did she remind him of?

Sam pushed past the sending that was holding the door open, and was halfway to the table when he realized that Lirael hadn't moved. She was still standing in the doorway, staring at the table.

”What?” he asked.

Lirael couldn't speak. She beckoned to the sending that carried her surcoat. Lirael took it and unfolded it so she could see the blazon.

Then she folded the surcoat again, shut her eyes for a silent count of ten, unfolded it, and stared at it again.

”What is it?” asked Sam. ”Are you all right?”