Read Escape from Wolfhaven Castle Online
Authors: Kate Forsyth
Crossroads. Gate. Dark Moon. Skull.
The Grand Teller studied the four white stones carefully. Each had a symbol painted in silver upon it. She seemed to grow pale. Quinn examined the stones too, and felt a sudden dread.
‘There is danger coming,’ Arwen said. ‘Dark days lie ahead. We must all beware.’
Quinn saw Tom start violently, and then flash a look at Lady Elanor. Both seemed pale and anxious, and Quinn wondered what troubled them. It was not like Tom to pay much attention to what the Grand Teller saw in her tell-stones. Though, of course, anyone would be fearful at the sign of the Skull.
‘We are at a crossroads in our history. Strangers come, with dark magic and violence. There is death in the wind …
death
…’ Arwen’s voice rose and quickened. Her hands were clenched, her eyes wide and terrified.
‘What is it?’ Lord Wolfgang demanded. ‘What danger?’
Suddenly Arwen swayed on her feet. ‘Blood! I see blood! Betrayal and blood!’ she cried, before collapsing
in a heap. Quinn rushed to help her, Tom a few steps behind. Together they lifted the old woman to a chair, where she drooped, her head in her hand. Her face was white as skim milk.
‘Carry her to her room,’ Lord Wolfgang commanded, and some servants came to lift her. Once again Tom glanced meaningfully at Lady Elanor, as if wanting her to do something. Lady Elanor only looked at her father wistfully, as if wishing he would turn and look at her.
Troubled and upset, Quinn gathered up the four tell-stones and put them back in their bag.
‘I am surprised you hold such old superstitions,’ the Lord of Frostwick said. ‘We got rid of our witch long ago.’
‘Perhaps that is why you do not prosper,’ the Lord of Wolfhaven replied, not tempering his words with any hint of a smile.
The Lord of Frostwick scowled. ‘I do not prosper because I have no river and no harbour, nor any of your fertile lands,’ he snapped. Then he eased his face with an effort. ‘I beg your pardon, I do not mean to
quarrel. We’ve agreed not to discuss the matter until I can find some way to raise the funds to pay all your tolls and taxes. Let us hope we all have a bountiful harvest this year.’
‘The only harvest will be of dragon teeth and human bones,’ the Grand Teller muttered, lifting her head for a moment as the servants carried her towards the old oak tree.
‘What a gloomy old woman,’ Lord Mortlake said. ‘Shall we dance again? My son and I must leave at first light tomorrow, but there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves now.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Music!’
Startled, the musicians seized their pipes and drums and lyres. Music rang out, and the lords and ladies took hands to dance about the bonfire once more. As Quinn began to pack away the cloth, Tom said to her in an undertone: ‘Quinn, you must tell the witch that I too have had a warning. I saw the wild man of the woods … he told me
danger
comes … that the wolves smell danger in the wind!’
‘Smelled something in the wind?’ Quinn replied. ‘That was probably you.’
‘Quinn, stop it, please,’ Tom pleaded. ‘No-one will listen to me … the wild man said I had to warn the lord.’ He made an abrupt move, as if about to charge over and accost the lord himself, and Quinn caught his arm, not wanting him to get into trouble.
‘Well, the Grand Teller has told him now,’ she answered. ‘We can only hope he listened to her.’
But the Lord of Wolfhaven Castle sat with his bearded chin sunk into his hands, staring at the bonfire as if recalling long ago midsummers, much brighter and merrier than this one.
‘W
ell, I cannot see any sign of danger coming,’ Tom said, looking out from the castle battlements. To the west, the ocean was transformed into a golden mantle by the setting sun. To the east, twilight was sinking over the forest, and the trees were silhouetted black against the fading sky. ‘Unless it’s that Spry kid, poking and prying into every corner of the castle. I’ve caught him in half-a-dozen places he shouldn’t be.’
‘Jack Spry is still just finding his way around,’ Quinn answered. ‘He’s had a hard life, I think. Perhaps he’s had to learn to check out each new place he’s in, to be sure he has an escape route.’
‘He asks a lot of questions too,’ Tom said. ‘He’s been following me around, pestering me to know everything there is to know about the castle. Why does he do that?’
‘You ask a lot of questions too,’ Quinn grinned. Her wild black curls blew away from her face. ‘Smell that wind. I wonder where it has been and what it has seen.’
‘The wind can’t see anything.’
She looked at him sideways. ‘How do you know?’
‘It has no eyes,’ Tom answered impatiently.
‘Do you need eyes to see, and do you need ears to hear?’
‘I think being apprenticed to the witch has been very bad for you,’ Tom replied.
Quinn only smiled.
‘I need to get back to the kitchen else Mam will be after me.’ Tom sighed. ‘Come on, Fergus.’ The wolfhound stood up, stretching and yawning, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth.
Quinn ruffled the wolfhound’s ears. ‘All right, I’ll stand guard now, but you need to be back before midnight.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘No, you must come back in time. It’s the night of the Dark Moon and the Grand Teller needs my help in the rituals.’
‘I’m sure she can manage to carry her own bag of rocks,’ Tom replied, and dodged Quinn’s swift punch. ‘All right! I get the message. I’ll be back by midnight.’
Tom waved goodbye and ran down the steps, taking them two at a time.
‘Bring me back something to eat,’ Quinn called after him.
When Tom came back at midnight, with some bread and cheese for Quinn, it was to find a fog creeping in from the north. It swirled down from the mountains, shrouding the roofs of the town.
‘It’s strange,’ Quinn said, rubbing her bare arms. ‘It’s turned so cold.’
Tom had brought up a blanket to sit on, and he tossed it to her. She wrapped it around her, and stood staring to the north. Nothing could be seen of the stars now, only pale drifts of mist.
‘What is the Dark One that goes over the earth,
swallows water and wood but is afraid of the wind?’ she asked, so low that Tom could hardly hear her.
‘What? What’s the answer?’ Tom demanded.
Quinn swirled one hand in the air, raising a tiny breeze which caused the mist to eddy and swirl.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I get it. You mean the mist.’
‘He got it! Is old muttonhead growing some brains at last?’ Quinn mocked.
The castle bells began to toll the midnight hour. The sound was strangely muffled. ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Quinn, eating the last of her bread. ‘Arwen will be looking for me.’
‘I’m not sure there’s any point standing guard in the fog,’ Tom said. ‘Besides, it’s been three weeks already and I’m sick of keeping watch half the night. Mam’s cross with me for practically falling asleep with my head in my stew.’
‘The Grand Teller is unhappy with me too,’ Quinn answered. ‘She keeps asking me where I’m slipping off to all the time.’
‘Maybe the wild man’s warning was hogwash,’ Tom said. After three weeks, it was hard to remember
the urgency of the wild man’s words and the firm grip of his fingers. Tom could only think how tired he was after days of trying to keep watch as well as do all his chores … while nothing unusual happened. He thought longingly of his soft, warm bed by the fire in the kitchen.
‘What about the tell-stones?’ urged Quinn. ‘And the Grand Teller’s vision?’
‘Maybe they’re warnings of things in coming
years
,’ Tom said. ‘It could be a long way off, and we’re wearing ourselves out in the meantime. Perhaps we’re better off getting some sleep so that we’re alert and ready for anything that comes.’
If it ever does …
he thought to himself.
Quinn stared into the darkness. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered slowly. ‘I don’t like this fog. It … it feels wrong. It smells wrong.’
Then Fergus growled deep in his throat. ‘What is it, boy?’ Tom asked. The wolfhound’s growl deepened into a snarl. He put both paws up onto the battlement, sniffing the wind. Then he barked a warning.
Tom looked all around, but it was pitch-black and impossible to see a thing.
A distant rattle and creak made him spin and look down into the inner ward. A gust of wind carried a strange smell, like marsh gas, and swirled the mist away.
He saw a dark, hooded figure dragging open the war gate. It was so heavy that the figure had to heave and drag it with all of their strength. An immense black key jutted from the keyhole.
As soon as the gate was open, strange, dark, bony things crept through. Tom leant forward, watching in horror. Quinn gasped and gripped the battlement beside him. The figures scuttled across the courtyard, slithered through doorways and leapt up steps. They were thin and bent, like long-legged insects, with empty eye-sockets. Each carried a spear in one hand, and was preceded by a swirl of dank-smelling mist. The only sound was the soft slap of their bare feet on the stone.
Quickly, cries of alarm and shouts of terror broke out. Castle guards ran to grapple with the invaders,
who fought silently, stabbing with their spears. Still more of them came through the mist, rank after rank after rank of them, eyeless and fleshless and noiseless. It was eerie and frightening. Then, knights on great horses rode in through the open gateway, helmets pulled down over their faces. Even the horses’ faces and bodies were covered with armour, while their hooves were ghostly quiet. The helmet of the leader had two upcurving boar tusks.
‘Who are they?’ Quinn cried. ‘Look, there are hundreds of them!’
‘Come on!’ Tom cried. ‘We have to sound the alarm!’
Tom ran along the battlements, shouting out at the top of his voice. ‘Beware, beware! Wake up! Invaders in the castle! Wake up!’ Fergus loped beside him, barking. Quinn ran the other way, shouting too. But their voices were lost in the mist.
Tom raced for the Bell Tower. He reached through an archway, and seized hold of the bell-ropes, yanking on them with all his strength. The bells rang out. Tom kept pulling at the ropes until his arms ached so
fiercely he could not pull anymore. Then Quinn was beside him again, taking over. The cacophony of the bells filled Tom’s head, making his senses swim. His palms stung fiercely. At last, panting, Quinn had to stop too.
‘The Grand Teller, I have to warn the Grand Teller!’ she cried.
‘Mam!’
Both ran as fast as they could along the battlements, the wolfhound swift at their heels. They reached the Lady’s Tower and half-fell down the steps into the keep. As they ran along the corridor, they saw a swirl of dank mist, and smelt again that strange marshy scent. Then they heard a girl’s scream.
‘Lady Elanor!’ Tom cried.
Tom and Quinn ran to her room. Elanor was backed up against the panelling, wildly swinging a poker. She was dressed only in a chemise, her golden-brown hair tied in a long plait, her feet bare. Facing her was a crowd of the terrifying silent creatures. They seemed to be made of ancient leather wrapped tightly over bone. They looked at Tom with their empty
eye-sockets, nostrils flaring. They caught his scent and leapt towards him, raking the air with their nails.
Fergus leapt past Tom with a snarl. He knocked down one of the leathery creatures, which then sought to stab him with its spear. Fergus seized it in his jaws and pulled. The two had a tug-of-war, until suddenly the leather-man let go, falling backwards.
Meanwhile, Tom managed to grab a jug of flowers from the table and hurl it at another. It hit the target in the face then crashed to the floor, giving Tom and Quinn time to rush across to where Elanor stood, waving the poker about.
‘Quick, through the secret door,’ Tom gasped. ‘Where is the key?’
Elanor darted across to where her clothes were folded over a chair, her golden slippers laid out neatly below. She grabbed them and pulled the key out of the pocket of her dress, tossing it to Tom. Fergus was rolling on the floor with another of the leathery creatures, snarling and biting and clawing. Quinn was holding off the rest with the poker, using it a lot more forcefully than Elanor had. Tom unlocked the
secret door and Elanor scrambled through, her dress and shoes in her arms. Tom and Quinn were quick to follow, then Tom whistled the wolfhound. Fergus leapt through the tiny door and Tom slammed it shut and locked it seconds before the leather-men reached it. They heard the nerve-shredding scrape of nails against the wood, and turned and ran. Down the narrow spiral steps they hurtled, crashing into the walls in the darkness.
Somewhere above them, Tom heard the crack and splinter of breaking wood, and then the swift
slap, slap, slap
of leathery feet.
‘Run!’ he cried.
T
om led the way down the stairs at breakneck speed and raced into the kitchen, Fergus and the two girls at his heels.
Mistress Pippin was fighting off leather-men with a frying pan. ‘Take that, you monster, take that!’ she cried. ‘And that!’
As one leather-man crumpled to the floor, another two advanced. Slowly the cook was being forced back towards the fireplace. Fury swelled through Tom. He leapt forward, wrenched a copper pan from a hook, and began wielding it fiercely.
Thwack, crack!
Another leather-man toppled to the floor, and then another. Fergus leapt on the back of one, forcing it to
the ground, while Quinn took up a basket of apples and began pelting them.
Thud, thump, splat!
Then one apple, thrown rather wildly, fell into the ashes of the fire and sent up a great burst of sparks. The leather-men reeled back. Tom was able to knock out one, then another, with his pan. Quinn felled one with her basket, while Mistress Pippin took care of the rest with her frying pan.
They lay twisted on the ground, all bones and leather and hair, looking like something a giant owl spat up. Tom and Quinn gingerly seized the leather-men’s stiff, contorted arms and dragged them out the door, locking and bolting it behind them.