Witch Silver (14 page)

Clara lifted her head and looked round. There it was again; a strange, scrunchy noise. But where was it coming from? She looked at the roof of her cell and the opening of the long tunnel that slanted upwards to the witches’ palace but could see nothing. She’d have tried to climb it if she could but it was too high for her to reach. Otherwise it would have been an easy job to chip away at the ice, make footholds for herself and climb out. Escape was so near and so far away!

After she’d dusted herself down and shed all the clinging ice particles that she’d gathered on her way down the long chute, she’d sat on the mouldy-looking old blanket cross-legged and hugged herself tightly to keep warm. It was so boring. Time passed ever so slowly and once again she wished she had her watch on. Maritza had told them before the play that witches didn’t wear watches so she’d left hers in her room. If only she’d put it in the pocket of her costume, instead. It was awful, not knowing what time it was. She seemed to have been here forever already; a couple of hours could have passed or even more, she couldn’t tell.

She closed her eyes and tried to work out where Neil would be by this time. She was pinning her hopes on him. Surely he’d have reached Arthur’s Seat by now and told the MacArthur what had happened? Then they’d come to rescue her. The thought brightened her spirits and gave her hope for a few minutes but as the cold reality of the ice-dungeon penetrated her limbs, she rubbed her hands and her arms to keep warm.

Then she heard it again. The scrunchy, scratching noise.
Whatever was it? Knowing that it was far too soon for the MacArthurs to have come to her rescue, she got to her feet and walked round her prison. The noise seemed to come from the wall opposite her bench. Gingerly she put her ear to the ice and heard it quite clearly. It was coming from inside the wall. Someone was coming to rescue her!

She banged on the ice with her fist. “I’m here!” she shouted. “I’m here! Help me!”

The scrunching noise stopped for a long moment and then she heard it start up again, coming nearer and nearer. Excitedly, she sat back on the blanket and waited, eyes bright at the thought of being rescued.

Then the noise sounded again, but this time it seemed to come from behind her. She turned round and put her ear to the wall. Yes, someone was trying to reach her from the other side, as well.

Then she saw it … a long, snake-like shape in the ice. A shadow of alarm crossed her face as she pushed her hair behind her ears with nervous fingers and backed away. What on earth was it? She’d imagined some kind of machine, drilling its way towards her but this thing was alive and moving, coming closer and closer through the ice. It was now so close that she could see its black eyes looking at her as it ate its way through the wall of her cell.

She screamed as it broke the ice; a horrible, huge, worm-like thing, at least four or five inches across with a rounded head, greedy black eyes and a gaping mouth that seemed to have as many teeth as a great white shark. It was pushing its way into the room and she knew she had to stop it. But how? She had nothing to defend herself with. Except her shoes, that is. Desperately, she pulled one off. She’d always hated them. Good, solid, school shoes built to last for yonks! Well, at least they’d come in handy now!

Holding it by the front, she lifted it up and brought the heavy heel down on the worm’s head with all the force she could muster. The worm, not unnaturally, objected to being bashed on the head and promptly started pulling itself back into the ice, leaving behind a scatter of broken teeth on the floor of the cell. By this time, Clara was shaking with relief but when she heard a crackling noise behind her, swung round in alarm. She’d
forgotten
about the other one! Rushing towards it, she hammered it back into the ice the minute it stuck its head through the hole, sharp teeth gnashing ferociously. Snow worms, she thought, eating their way through the ice. Were they responsible for the many decorations in the snow queen’s palace — the pillars, the statues and the fragile furniture?

She looked round. The worms had disappeared and there were no other threatening shadows in the ice. The danger seemed to be over — for the present, at least. She sat down on the bench of ice, breathing heavily. The thought of spreading the blanket over it and trying to sleep to pass the time until Neil came to rescue her had crossed her mind, but now she didn’t dare shut her eyes in case the worms came back.

They did come back. She heard them before she saw them. Indeed, her ears had been straining to catch the first sound of their approach and she listened fearfully as the noise grew steadily louder as they ate their way through the ice. But what, she thought, if it wasn’t only ice they ate? What if
that
was what the witches had known? Did they know the worms would kill her in this small, cold cell in the ice? Was that to be her
punishment
for calling up daemons?

And the spells she had learned were less than useless for, without the talisman, she was no longer able to call up any of the dreadful residents that lurked in
The Book of Spells
— even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t! But she shivered in fear as
the noise of the worms grew increasingly louder and gritted her teeth desperately. There wasn’t a lot she could do, which was a pity as she was quite sure they were coming to kill her. The teeth on them, she thought hopelessly, would make short work of an elephant far less someone her size.

The noise was coming from everywhere this time: she could see vague shadowy shapes in all four walls. Hurriedly, she took off both her shoes and held them ready to fend off her attackers. Her feet soon felt like lumps of ice as the cold seeped through the soles of her cotton socks. Come soon, Neil she thought frantically. There are so many of them and I won’t be able to hold them off for ever.

She could see them quite clearly now, writhing and
slithering
in the walls, their great teeth slicing quickly and easily through the ice. How many were there and which one of them was going to poke its head through first?

The worms, however, had a game plan. They had learned their lesson well and after the failure of their first attempt, were wary. This time, they took it in turns to poke their heads just a little way into the cell before withdrawing them quickly. Then, two more made the same manoeuvre on opposite walls and at the same time, so that she had to swing round to thump them. They were too quick for her, though, and she missed the pair of them.

The worms kept the attack going for what seemed an endless length of time and Clara felt her strength waning as she was kept continuously on the move. Gasping for breath and with a stitch in her side she stood in the middle of the cell and watched through tear-stained eyes as the worms, sensing triumph, pushed further and further through the holes they’d made. It only needed one, she thought, to get through
completely
and she’d be finished. While she was trying to kill it, the
others would slide through and they’d finish her off.

“Help!” she screamed at the top of her voice. “Help me! Please, help me!”

But even as she screamed, a huge, long, thick worm slithered swiftly from its hole, dropped into the cell and, slavering jaws agape, headed straight for her.

“Majesty,” a Snow Witch moved hurriedly between rows of ice shelves that held the bodies of injured witches. “Majesty, we have visitors,” she said excitedly as she bowed low. “The two magicians that helped us against the daemons; they’re here!”

Samantha straightened, her face strained. “I can’t come now, Matilda. They’ll have to wait,” she said tiredly. “The daemons’ poison is deadly and even the healing power of the talisman takes time to work. I’ve still a long way to go before I finish treating everyone.”

“Majesty,” Matilda looked doubtful, “they need help
themselves
. The old man is ill.”

“My witches must come first,” Samantha said icily. “The magicians will have to wait. See that they’re comfortable and I’ll come as quickly as I can.”

Matilda bowed and withdrew. The talisman that shone on the queen’s arm had filled the court with a new sense of power and importance. She was going to enjoy telling the magicians that they would have to wait.

It was very much later that Samantha sailed majestically into the Great Hall. Approaching the magicians regally, she apologized profusely for keeping them waiting. Words, after all, cost nothing and although it was only a small show of her new status, she knew it would not go unremarked. It was only when she met the icy, blue eyes of the younger of the two men that her heart quailed and she understood why her witches had grouped themselves as far away from her guests as possible
without seeming rude. A wolf man! One of the Onegin!

The wolf man bowed, but not, she noticed, too low. “Count Vassili Onegin,” he said coldly, clicking his heels, “special envoy of Lord Jezail of Ashgar.”

The queen’s eyes flashed venom at Matilda, who paled
visibly,
knowing that the queen’s punishment would be severe. “You are welcome, milord, and you have my sincere apologies,” she said. “I was not told who my guests were otherwise I would have come immediately. Please forgive me.”

He inclined his head and indicated the old man who lay with his eyes closed on one of the spindly ice sofas. “Prince Kalman was badly bitten by the daemons and although I’ve done my best, he seems to have need of more help than I can give.”

Bending over the prince, a ripple of unease trickled through her as she felt the count’s eyes staring fixedly at the talisman clasped firmly round her arm. She wasn’t a fool and knew
perfectly
well that the envoy of Lord Jezail had surely come with but one thought in mind — to take the talisman back to his master in Ashgar.

Half an hour later, the queen, accompanied by her ladies in waiting, ushered her guests to a private sitting room where tea was being served. Prince Kalman had regained consciousness and no longer looked so desperately ill; the pallor had left his face and although still fragile, he walked with a firm step. What, Samantha wondered, had happened to leave him in such a state? He’d obviously fallen victim to a spell of some sort and a very powerful one at that. Gone was the fair-haired, debonair young prince that she knew — he looked, she thought disdainfully, at least a thousand years old, if not more.

Prince Kalman brought the subject up himself. Finishing his tea, he put the cup and saucer on the table and looked at Samantha with more confidence in his tired, watery eyes than
he felt. He knew from past experience that witches were a tricky lot and bore watching. “Count Vassili brought me here, Samantha,” he began, “so that I could ask a favour from you; a very great favour.”

“Indeed,” she answered warily.

“We have been friends for many years, you and I,” he said, forcing a smile, “and as you see I have been affected by a
powerful
spell. It is a spell that is slowly taking my life, as you may have noticed.”

Politeness forced her to speak. “How can I help?” she asked, half-guessing the answer as she spoke.

“By letting me wear the talisman until the spell is destroyed,” he replied. “Its magic is powerful and I know that my time is near.”

Samantha’s face darkened. “Give you the talisman!” she repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I’ve lost my senses?”

“I need it, Samantha!” Kalman’s face flushed. “You know as well as I do that it has the power to cure spells. I wouldn’t ask for it otherwise.”

Again she laughed derisively. “Do you take me for a fool, Prince Kalman?” she snapped. “Your father and the Lords of the North have the power to counteract any spell that binds you.
You
know that just as well as
I
do! Ask
them
for help and don’t come to me with fairy tales!”

“You know I can’t ask my father,” he replied stiffly, “and the Lords of the North have barred me from Morven. What I say is the truth!”

“And
I
don’t believe you,” she countered. “What madness! If I were to give you the talisman, I’d never see it again!”

Kalman’s face whitened and the count half-rose to calm him down.

Samantha, too, got to her feet and looked at them fiercely. “Understand this,” she said harshly. “The talisman is mine and I give it to no one. Not to you, Prince Kalman, nor,” and here she glanced at the count, “to you or your master, Lord Jezail.”

“I will convey your message to my master,” the count said smoothly, rising to his feet.

Prince Kalman, too, stood up, his face stony with anger and despair. Then he remembered Clara. “Where is the child?” he asked, looking round. “Didn’t you bring her with you?”

“I did,” Samantha answered and, knowing how deeply he hated the two children, smiled to soften his disappointment at not getting the talisman. “Don’t worry,” she said sweetly, “I’ve taken care of her. She’ll trouble you no more.”

Kalman stiffened and looked at her in alarm. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.

“She’s in the deep dungeons,” came the casual answer.

“You mean you’ve put her among the snow worms?” he sounded incredulous.

“Ages ago,” she smiled. “They ought to have finished her off by this time.”

The count leapt forward and grabbed the prince’s arm as he lunged furiously at the queen.

“You fool!” Kalman gasped, struggling frantically, as he tried to reach her. “You complete fool! Do you think the Lords of the North will stand by and do nothing? If she’s dead you’ll suffer for it, Samantha — talisman or no talisman!”

“I couldn’t care less!” she snarled, rising to her feet. “She was mine to punish by right!” She threw out her arms in anger. “Do you know how many of my witches the daemons injured,” she hissed, “how many lie poisoned by their bites?”

“Where is she?” Kalman demanded in a voice that brooked no denial.

“Find her yourself,” the queen spat. Then she stepped back, white with fear. The witches standing at her side screamed shrilly and at their cries, more poured in from the Great Hall. They stopped dead in their tracks, however, as they looked towards the queen; for the Ashgari count had disappeared in a shimmer of light and in his place stood a great, grey wolf.

The wolf bared its teeth threateningly and growled at the petrified witches. Then, nudging Prince Kalman with its head, looked up at him. “Follow me,” the wolf said, “I know her scent.” And it ran from the room, sniffing the ice.

Kalman gave the queen one last, furious look and followed. The wolf ran to the area around the queen’s throne and started to sniff the ice, searching for Clara’s scent.

“This way,” he said, and trotting steadily so that the prince could keep up with him, made his way along corridors and down a flight of stairs until they came to the roughly carved tunnel where the dungeons were. It was then that they heard Clara’s scream of pure terror and the noise of a struggle as she hit out frantically at the snow worms with the heels of her shoes.