The Various (35 page)

* * *

The light had changed. In truth he had not slept for very long, but now the moon had given up and gone elsewhere, and the night hung upon that chilly hour when the first hint of dawn starts to break through. The leaves about him were more green than grey, and the shadows less deep. He could see through the trees now, down to the silent wetlands far below, where strips of morning mist rippled the dark fields and slowly threaded among the leaning willows that stood, forever regarding their sombre reflections in the watery ditches. The sun would be up soon, but, for the moment, it was cold – and Little-Marten shivered. He put his hands under his armpits, yawning, and rubbed his bare feet together. Pank and the others must have gone long since. He began to be angry with himself. This was not a good beginning, falling asleep when he should have been working. He looked in his forage bag. The puffballs were still safe, and would show that he had not been entirely idle. He would go soon. He
must
go soon, or there was a danger that Scurl and his cronies would be up and doing – though surely not at this hour. Some sort of bird caught his eye, moving through the misty fields below, greyish-white – a heron?
Not
a bird though . . . something else. Little-Marten sat up and moved his head, to get a better view. A figure. Yes, a figure – and his heart jumped, for there was suddenly no mistaking that dark mane of hair. Henty! It was Henty – out there, alone, far from the forest and crossing Gorji territory! What could she be about?

He struggled to his feet, stiff from sleep, and scrambled clumsily through the branches, trying to track the movements of the tiny patch of grey, among all else that was grey in that silent dawn landscape. He kept losing sight of her as he climbed to a higher vantage point, working his way closer to the edge of the wood. Now he could see the dark shapes of the Gorji settlement, a huddled group of dwellings, rising from the shifting ribbons of mist, partially obscured by a copse of cedars and cypress trees. Henty was crossing an open field – heading, it seemed, straight for the settlement. Had she turned upsides in the head? She was all alone, and walking straight into the arms of the Gorji – into their very settlement! What
could
she be about?

A panicky muddle of thoughts raced round his head – and one of them suddenly began to make sense. He remembered the frightened look Henty had given him when her father had sent her to fetch Celandine’s Cup. And then something made him think of the exchange between Henty and Midge at the mouth of the cave. Henty had given the Gorji maid a metal object – some tinsy thing, a stoup or a cup as it had appeared to him.
Celandine
’s Cup, perhaps? Could
that
have been the thing she had given to the giant – Celandine’s Cup? A gift that had not been hers to give? And was she now frightened that her father – and all her tribe – would be angry to find it gone? Was she about to try to get it back? He could think of no other reason that would explain the madness of her present behaviour.

He watched, helpless, as the tiny distant figure reached the very gates of the settlement, hesitated, it seemed, for a few moments – and then disappeared from view. Frantic now, he scrabbled about from branch to branch, trying to catch another glimpse of her, but it was no good. She had gone. Who knew what might become of her in there? Her fellow cavedweller, Lumst, had met a dreadful fate behind those walls, so ’twas said. Slain by a felix! The first shafts of sunlight rose above the early morning cloud, and the world was suddenly awake.

He should run for help – but to whom? Tadgemole? Maglin? But as he stood, gnawing his knuckles in desperate indecision, a further astonishing thing happened. Three, four –
six
winged figures came into view, ghostly as owls, soaring down from the trees to his left, launching out over the steep incline of the hillside, silently gliding across the empty landscape, wheeling, spiralling, and finally descending into the thin vapours below. Ickri archers they were, and for a wild miraculous moment, Little-Marten thought that Maglin had already been summoned and was leading a rescue party – but it wasn’t Maglin at all. It was the West Wood hunters. He recognized them well enough: Benzo, Flitch, Dregg, Snerk, Grissel – and Scurl. What
their
purpose was Little-Marten couldn’t begin to imagine, but he doubted if it had anything to do with bringing Henty safely back again. Were they after her? What could be happening?

Maglin. He must find Maglin. He jumped, swooped, fell down through the trees – flinging aside the
cumbersome
forage bag on the way and scratching his cheek as he did so – swung from a branch that was too big for him to grasp, and landed with an undignified thump among the hard protruding roots of the tree he had slept in, banging the side of his head in the process. Part of one of the roots came away in his hand as he struggled to sit up, and he found himself looking at a truffle.

I see you are up betimes, Woodpecker. Or are you still at your revels?

From the nearby coppices stepped the winged horse, his coat dappled grey and white in the hesitant sunbeams of early dawn.

‘Pegs!’ Little-Marten dropped the truffle and got back onto his feet. ‘Pegs, I be so glad you’re here! I’ve seen a terrible thing – you must help – ’tis Henty, Pegs, she’s gone to the Gorji! And Scurl – he’s gone after her!’

Henty? Is that the . . . Tinkler’s daughter? And Scurl? Tell me your story – what is it that you have seen?

Little-Marten explained as best he could while Pegs listened gravely – puzzled as to the meaning of it all. For the Tinkler maid’s actions there seemed to be some possible explanation – but none for Scurl’s. What did he hope to gain? What did he seek?

This gift of Henty’s to the Gorji maid – Celandine’s Cup, by your guess – did Scurl know aught of it?

‘I don’t reckon. Though he might have
seen
it when he . . . aye, he
might
have seen it, for she carried it down to the stream . . . but he wouldn’t know what ’twas. Some little tinsy thing – wouldn’t be nothing to
him
– and I don’t reckon he knows aught of Henty at all. Can’t see that he would.’

Carried it to the stream? When was this?

Little-Marten told of his encounter with Scurl, and how he and Midge had been threatened with their lives. The horse seemed unsurprised at this – as though it confirmed that which he already knew – yet his manner now became more agitated, and his speech more urgent.

Scurl may be visiting the Gorji settlement for reasons more connected with the Gorji maid than with Henty, I believe – though both their lives may be in danger. We must act quickly
. Pegs glanced over his shoulder, seemingly towards the bushes from where he had appeared, then began to move away.
Come, we will find Maglin and speak with him
.

Little-Marten came to a decision. ‘You find him, Pegs – and as quick as you like – but I be going down there. Maglin’ll have none o’ me, as I suppose. Scurl would kill that Gorji maid if he sees her – and has vowed so. And I reckon that’s why he’s there – couldn’t find me, so he’ll do for her instead. But Henty’s in amongst it – and I don’t care about nothing else. And if she’s stood between Scurl and a felix, well, she won’t be stood there alone, and me standing here listening to Maglin. So you go and tell him what you like, and maybe he’ll do something about it, and maybe he won’t. But I’m away.’ And Little-Marten took a couple of steps backwards, hopped up into the tree he had lately tumbled out of, and began to climb.

Woodpecker
 . . .

The youth glanced briefly down at the white horse.

I shall come. Tell the maid that, for me, if you see her. Whatever Maglin decides, I shall come
.

Little-Marten grunted, and continued to climb. It was a fair distance to the settlement, and his wings were small. He would need as much height as he could get. The sun shook itself free from the purple horizon – and the long hot day began.

It took Pegs a little more time to find Maglin than he had anticipated – the Ickri leader had sat up deep into the night talking with Aken, and then, finding himself unable to sleep, had decided upon a thorough tour of the boundaries to include a personal check on all the exit tunnels.

The weary General was not in the most receptive of moods when Pegs finally discovered him and told him the news of the various expeditions to the Gorji settlement. Henty had gone, then the West Wood archers, and now Little-Marten. Maglin was at first disbelieving, then furious – but when Pegs declared his own intention of adding to their number, the Ickri General fairly boiled over.

‘Has the world turned witless overnight?’ he roared. ‘Do we deliver ourselves to the Gorji holus bolus, now? I wonder, Pegs, that you let the Woodpecker go – that was foolishness enough – but to now reckon on taking the same path . . .! And the archers –
my
company! Do ’ee all think that I count for naught? Do ’ee? Well, maybe ’tis so – maybe I toil in vain – in which case, why come to me? Why tell me your mazy tales? If I no longer hold sway
in
the affairs of this place, then what would you of me?’

Maglin, we agreed yesterday, you and I, that I would go to speak with the Gorji maid – but that I would do naught until today. Now, it seems, I may be too late – for I doubt that Scurl has any honourable reason to visit the settlement. He has vowed harm to the child. Her life is in danger – the life of one who has saved mine. And in seeking you out I may have already delayed too long. What would I of you? Come with me. Now. You are needed there. We go together
.

Maglin’s eyes opened even wider with astonishment. He looked as though he might explode.

Chapter Twenty

THE CREEPING DAWN
had fallen, clammy and chill, upon the slight shoulders of Henty as she stood among the thistles and dew-soaked camomiles. She shivered as she looked through the rusty bars of the gate and saw the abandoned plough – the Gorji contraption that she had heard Pank speak of when recounting his ventures. That was where the woodlanders had hidden. Companions there had been for Pank – stout-hearted Tod, Spindra, an Ickri archer, and poor Lumst, of course. For her there was nobody. She was alone – all alone – and with no idea of how she was to achieve her purpose. Somehow she must retrieve the tinsy stoup, Celandine’s Cup, which she had so foolishly given to the Gorji giant.
Why
had she done such a thing? Reason had told her at the time that the maid who had visited the forest with Pegs could not have been Celandine – that story was old when her father was a boy. Yet she had half-believed – wanted to believe – that the good spirit of the woods had somehow magically returned once again, and that all would be well. She had wanted to be the one to give
the
gift so long overdue, although even as she had put it into the giant’s hands she had known it was wrong. Well, now she was paying the price for her impetuous gesture. The cup, unused and long neglected, was wanted once more. Her father, and all her tribe, would be furious to learn that she had given it away to the Gorji. She
must
find it.

Henty recalled details of Pank’s astonishing and terrifying tale – of his entry into the very dwelling of the giants through a small door within a big door, of the byres where he and his company had hidden, and how one of those byres had contained the monster, the felix, and of this rot-metal contraption before her, from where the whole settlement could be surveyed. Giving herself no time to think – lest thinking should diminish her fragile store of courage – she scrambled through the bars of the gate and ran across the cobbles to the grassy verge where the plough stood. To enter the dwelling, find the giant, and either steal or beg the tinsy cup – this was the extent of her plan. She was well aware of how feeble it was, and so acted in haste before she had time to tell herself that she was heaping foolishness upon foolishness.

A quick glance about the empty yard, then, and she left the plough almost as soon as she had hidden herself beneath it – running along the foot of the balustrade wall and peering round the end pillar to look along the flagstone path leading to the front door. She had to stand on tiptoe to see over the two deep steps that dropped from the path down to the level of the yard. Yes, she could see the little door and
knew
that it had to be but pushed in order to open it.

Something lay on the grey flags – a huge Gorji boot – and, as Henty made ready to risk that long exposed dash to the dwelling, the boot suddenly seemed to stir, and some creature began to emerge from its depths. Henty stood, horrified, as the head of a felix appeared. She hadn’t been prepared for this. The ways of the Gorji were strange, it was known, but never would she have imagined that they kept felixes in their very footwear. The dreaded beast had not yet seen her, but peered, blinking, in the early light, showing its sharp fangs in a gaping yawn. It was perhaps not quite as big as Pank had claimed – being more the size of a young coney than the giant brock of his description – but it was big enough for her liking.