‘Who is she?’ asked Rhosmari, holding up the photograph. ‘The girl?’
Timothy lowered the spyglass. ‘Oh. That’s Miriam. Miriam Sewanaku, our neighbour back in Uganda.’
Rhosmari looked down at the picture again. ‘She’s beautiful,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Timothy, turning back to the window. Then he added, very softly, ‘But not as beautiful as you.’
Rhosmari’s eyes widened. Had he meant her to hear those words?
‘He also thinks you’re intelligent and fascinating, if that helps,’ said Paul as he wheeled up to the doorway. ‘We’re actually getting a little sick of hearing about it.’ He spoke lightly, but his face was lined with tension. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve just had news from the Oak. Another faery’s gone missing.’
‘Mallow, you mean?’ asked Rhosmari. ‘That happened just before I—’ But Paul cut her off with a shake of his head.
‘Not Mallow,’ he said. ‘Bluebell.’
‘It’s a good thing the Oakenfolk hadn’t yet realised you weren’t in the Oak, Rhosmari, or there’d have been a real panic,’ said Peri, striding to meet them in the corridor. ‘Losing Bluebell is bad enough, but losing you would have been catastrophic. I’ve told Thorn you’re safe with us, but we’d better get you back there straightaway.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Timothy said, as the three of them headed downstairs. ‘Why would Bluebell disappear like that? She’s never left the Oakenwyld in her life. Where would she go?’
‘Thorn thinks she went after Mallow,’ replied Peri. She led them down the passage to the back of the house, then across to the far corner of the sitting room, where she flipped back the carpet to reveal a brass ring set into the floor. ‘Maybe to talk some sense into her, maybe to join her, no one knows. But the timing couldn’t be worse. They’re both likely to get caught by the Empress, if they haven’t been already.’ She tugged the ring and a square of the wooden flooring lifted away, shedding crumbs of foam in its wake.
‘What is that?’ asked Rhosmari.
‘The way out,’ Peri said. ‘We made it for Linden when she was little, so she could visit us without having to dodge the crows. Make yourself small, crawl through this pipe, and it’ll bring you to a secret corridor that runs underneath the hedge all the way to the Oak.’
Crawl through this pipe. Into a black hole little wider than a human hand, with roots and damp earth pressing down upon her. ‘No, that’s all right,’ Rhosmari said faintly. ‘I’ll just Leap back—’
‘You can’t,’ said Peri. ‘After Bluebell disappeared, Queen Valerian warded the Oak so that no one could get in or out using magic. You’d have to walk across the garden, and I’m not sending you out there in plain view of the Empress and all her servants. It’s too much of a risk.’
‘Isn’t that a bit dramatic?’ said Timothy. ‘We don’t know if they’re even there.’
‘I know.’ Peri’s expression was grim. ‘The only thing I’ve been looking for is a way to prove it.’
‘Hunter’s instincts?’ Timothy asked in a dubious tone.
‘Something like that. There are too many shadows in the wood. And the wind smells different. You have to know a place before you know what’s normal and what isn’t – and I know the Oakenwyld better than anyone. Believe me, they’re out there.’
Rhosmari licked her lips and squeezed her hands together. She could not take her eyes off that missing square of floor, the round emptiness inside it. Walking into Gruffydd’s Way had been difficult, but this – this was impossible.
And yet she had promised Queen Valerian that she would lorecast the battle, and Campion, Linden and Wink were waiting for her to join them. And if she did not say goodbye to Garan and the others now, she might never get the chance again.
Timothy touched her shoulder. ‘Are you all right? You look sort of…green.’
‘I don’t like small, dark places,’ Rhosmari admitted with a nervous laugh. ‘I just need a moment to…to prepare.’
‘Would it help if I went with you?’ asked Timothy, and Peri said sharply, ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’
But Timothy had already walked into the kitchen and taken down the electric torch. ‘Why not? Hardly anybody knows that tunnel even exists, let alone that it goes all the way to the house. I’ll probably be safer down there than I am here.’ And with that he pulled the wooden medallion out of his pocket, and dropped it around his neck.
Nothing happened. Emotions passed like clouds over Timothy’s face: puzzlement, alarm, and finally resignation. He reached to take off the medallion, but Rhosmari caught his wrist. ‘Wait,’ she said.
Perhaps it was the magic within her, or just her desperate need not to go into that dark hole alone. But at the moment she touched him, the medallion’s power began to work – not only on Timothy, but on Rhosmari as well. The furniture around them swelled to gigantic size, and Peri loomed above them like an exasperated goddess.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But Timothy – as soon as she’s safely in the Oak, you turn around and come back here. Understood?’
Timothy switched on the torch and saluted Peri with it. Then he flung himself down on his belly and wriggled headfirst into the hole in the floor. ‘Follow me,’ he called back to Rhosmari. ‘It’s not that far – I can see the other end of the pipe from here. I think.’
Peri kneeled, stooping close to Rhosmari. ‘It’s all right to be afraid,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Just don’t let it stop you from doing what you have to do.’
Rhosmari gave a reluctant nod. Then she got down on her hands and knees, and crawled into the tunnel after Timothy.
The pipe felt cool and smooth against her hands, its sides clammy with condensation. By the wavering beam of Timothy’s torch Rhosmari could see that it was made of some greyish substance that caught the light and reflected it dimly back. But Timothy’s head and shoulders were a wall of shadow, and she fought the impulse to whimper as he crawled ahead of her, moving too fast for her trembling arms and legs to keep up, leaving her behind in the growing dark—
Something snagged her skirt, wrenching her to a stop. She tried to pull free, to press onwards, but her bones were vibrating with terror, and her muscles refused to obey.
Timothy stopped. ‘Rhosmari?’
‘I’m caught. I can’t… Something’s got me. I can’t move…’
‘Hang on. I’m going to turn around and have a look.’ A scuffling noise followed, and the light flickered wildly in all directions before coming to a halt. ‘OK, maybe I can’t turn around.’ He paused, then said in a decisive tone, ‘Right. Just stay still, try to relax, while I crawl ahead a bit. The pipe’s got to connect to the hedge tunnel somewhere; maybe at the junction I’ll have room to turn around.’
‘Don’t leave me.’ Her voice was a stranger’s, rasping with desperation. ‘Timothy—’
‘I’m going to hand you the torch, so you can see where I’m going. I’ll wriggle backwards a bit, and – here, I’m shoving the torch down to you now. Can you reach it?’
Her fingers skittered across the soles of Timothy’s shoes. She stretched out her arm as far as she could – and felt the torch’s barrel push against her palm. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Hold the light steady. I’m going to hum, so you can hear me even if I get out of sight. I’ll come back as soon as I can. OK?’
Rhosmari gripped the torch with both hands, blinking her stinging eyes. She watched the muscles of Timothy’s shoulders bunch and uncoil as he pulled himself down on the tunnel on his elbows, the angles of his shifting hips and knees, the black-and-white soles of his trainers… and then the shadows swallowed him up, and even the sound of his humming was drowned out by the awful silence.
‘Timothy? Timothy?’
‘What?’
Rhosmari exhaled. ‘I couldn’t hear you any more,’ she said. ‘I thought…’
‘I’m almost at the end of the pipe. There’s something here…’ Then came a scraping sound, a creak, and a shout of ‘Whoa!’ Sh
e heard a heavy thump, and then…nothing.
Terror swept over Rhosmari, and she clutched the torch so tightly her fingers throbbed. He had tumbled into a crevice, the roof of the tunnel had caved in, some lurking predator had seized him by the throat and dragged him away—
‘When peace like a river…attendeth my way…when sorrows like sea billows roll…’
The song was husky and broken, but every note rang true. It was also, mercifully, getting louder. ‘Whatever my lot…thou has taught me to say…it is well…it is well with my soul…’
At last Timothy’s face emerged from the darkness, dirt-smudged and blinking. ‘Could you point that thing in another direction?’ he asked, raising a hand against the glare of the torch. Grateful beyond words to see him again, Rhosmari tilted the beam upwards, and beneath its softened glow the two of them met face to face.
‘It’s really not far at all,’ he told her. ‘There’s a door at the end of the pipe – I thought the tunnel was blocked for a minute, but when I gave it a shove, it opened up and I fell out. It’s a lot wider at the other end.’ He pushed himself up on his elbows and flashed her a grin. ‘I don’t usually sing that well, especially while lying on my stomach. I blame you.’
‘Me? What do I have to do with— Oh.’
‘Oh?’
‘For a minute, I forgot you were a human.’
Timothy let out a whoop of laughter. ‘So you do have a sense of humour, after all.’
Rhosmari hadn’t meant to make a joke. She truly had forgotten that Timothy’s musical talent would be enhanced by her presence. But now she realised that she had accidentally echoed the comment he had once made about forgetting she was a faery…and that was funny. ‘I don’t usually,’ she said, and then more daringly, ‘I blame you.’
Timothy’s grin faded to seriousness, and his fingers curled around her wrists. Rhosmari’s heart lurched as he leaned closer…
But he only craned his neck, trying to see past her. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You’re stuck, right? Can you see where? Can you move at all?’
‘It’s my skirt,’ she said. ‘It’s caught on something.’
‘Oh, right.’ He took the torch from her hands and played it down the wall. ‘Looks like a join in the pipe. Try rolling over – that might pull it loose.’
Such a simple idea. She might have thought of it herself, if she hadn’t been half-witted with panic. Rhosmari twisted over, then back again, and the tugging sensation vanished. ‘It worked!’
‘Good. Now, I’m going to back up, and you come after me. I’m right here, and I’ve been through this pipe all the way to the other end, and there’s nothing scary about it. OK?’
He was being so patient with her – more patient than she deserved. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know there’s no good reason for me to feel this way, I keep trying to talk myself out of it, but—’
‘Lots of people are claustrophobic,’ he said. ‘My mum doesn’t like tight places, either. You’re just lucky I didn’t inherit it from her, or there’d be two of us panicking in the dark.’ He turned the torch sideways between them, so it wouldn’t dazzle her eyes. ‘Ready? Let’s go.’
Rhosmari’s forearms were damp, her elbows bruised from hauling herself along. Her boots kept skidding on the pipe’s slick surface – but, little by little, she advanced on Timothy as he wriggled away from her. She concentrated on his downcast eyes, the rumpled hair falling over his forehead, the soft pressure of his teeth into his lower lip as he pushed himself backwards, and gradually her fear receded. She was not trapped, not lost, not alone. She was only making her way through a tight place, with the help of a friend.
They crept along in silence, until the muscles in Rhosmari’s shoulders burned and Timothy was grimacing with the strain. Then he stopped. ‘Door,’ he gasped. ‘Got to give it a kick.’ And with a grunt and a thud, a gust of cooler air washed over them. Timothy writhed backwards out of the pipe, sliding over its edge until only his arms and his head were visible. ‘Grab my hand,’ he said. ‘I’ll pull you out.’
Rhosmari scrambled towards him and caught his fingers, then his wrists. He yanked, and she slid free, straight into his arms. He staggered back under her weight and dropped the torch; it spun crazily across the floor, flashing over the root-patterned walls and two more shut doors before rolling to a stop by their feet.
The relief of being out of the pipe was overwhelming. Rhosmari gripped Timothy’s sleeves and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
‘Er…’ He cleared his throat, and his voice cracked an octave as he went on, ‘We should get moving. Can you walk?’
Rhosmari let go of him with an effort, then bent and picked up the torch. The hedge tunnel was even darker than the pipe, and smelled of mulch and old earth. But the walls were packed hard, and the floor looked dry. There were no cobwebs or scuttling insects, no holes that she could see. And best of all, it was high enough to stand up in.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m all right now.’
The door at the end of the tunnel was plastered thickly with soil, and fitted so closely to the wall that if not for the brass ring that marked its handle, Rhosmari would never have known it was there. She pulled and it creaked open, revealing the East Root corridor of the Oak. ‘Finally,’ she murmured, and stepped forward – but Timothy caught her arm.
‘I’ve got to get back to the house,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right from here?’
She switched off the torch and handed it to him. ‘I know where I am now. I’ll be fine.’
Timothy watched her, his face unreadable in the half-light. ‘So…I guess this is goodbye.’
Rhosmari nodded.
‘Yeah.’ He sounded hoarse. ‘OK. Well, take care.’ He turned to leave.
‘Timothy?’ She waited until he looked back, then went on in a rush, ‘I appreciate what you did for me. Very much.’ And with that Rhosmari leaned forward, and brushed her lips against his cheek.
Timothy’s fingers crept up to the place where she had kissed him. Then he broke into an incredulous, lopsided grin. ‘Any time,’ he said, and sprinted away.
Rhosmari shut the door after him, and headed for the main part of the Oak. She had just passed the empty dining hall when the air around her tingled, as though lightning had flashed by. Seconds later a pack of scullery maids fled out the kitchen door, shrieking, ‘It’s started! The Empress is here!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ pleaded Holly, plunging into the corridor after them. ‘It’s barely even dark yet— Oh, hello, Rhosmari.’ She brushed a hand across her sweat-dampened brow. ‘You’ve heard about Bluebell, I suppose.’
‘Yes, I have,’ said Rhosmari. She glanced ahead to the open heart of the tree, where the kitchen workers huddled fearfully at the foot of the Spiral Stair. Beyond them, a larger crowd of faeries stood in restless ranks, all of them armed. Some carried bows carved and polished to a sheen, with quivers full of feathered shafts across their shoulders. Others wore swords and daggers of glittering steel. Weapons meant to hurt, to wound, to kill.
Rhosmari had hoped to find a way to defeat the Empress without violence, but she had failed, and there could be no stopping this battle now. The faeries of the Oak would fight to save their home, and some of them would die.
Gardener protect us, she thought. Then she began edging around the crowd, trying to find a clear path to the Spiral Stair. Thorn caught sight of her, and waved her troops back to let her pass. ‘Took you long enough,’ she said. ‘They’re waiting for you upstairs.’
Garan slipped through the ranks to join them, his cheeks flushed and his eyes fever-bright. ‘The wards are holding,’ he said. ‘But the Empress is on the move. It is time.’ He took Rhosmari by the shoulders and kissed her brow. ‘Peace to you, sister.’ Then he vanished back into the crowd.
‘All right!’ Thorn barked at her troops. ‘Everyone outside and into position! Now!’
At once the faeries closed ranks and began marching off towards the exits. A tremor rocked the Oak,
and Rhosmari clutched the bannister as the window-slits flashed with the dull red light of an explosion.
The battle for the Oak had begun.
seventeen
Rhosmari stood with Campion, Wink and Linden on the West Knot Branch, a rope around her waist and the loreseed clenched tightly in her hand. The moon was still inching its way up above the trees, but the stars were clearly visible, and Peri had turned the lights on at the back of the house, casting a soft illumination over the lawn. In the garden below, a host of tiny figures were moving into position; in the nearby wood, the trees were restless with birds. There was no sign of the Empress, but they all knew that somewhere in the shadows, she was there.
Rhosmari opened her fingers, balancing the loreseed on her palm. ‘This is the account of the battle between the faeries of the Oak and the Empress Jasmine,’ she said in a clear but quiet voice, ‘as witnessed by Rhosmari daughter of Celyn of the Children of Rhys. May it stand as a testimony to future generations, that they may know what truly happened on this day.’
‘Amen,’ said Linden softly, as though it had been a prayer. Wink had made them all invisible to everyone else but not to each other, so Rhosmari could see that her face was strained and very pale. Stepping a few paces down the branch, which was so broad that six faeries could have walked it side by side without touching, Linden tied herself to a stout twig for support. With a last squeeze of Rhosmari’s hand and a whispered, ‘Gardener help you,’ Wink hurried to do likewise.
Hissing and spitting sparks, a spell erupted from the enemy lines and arced high over the Oakenwyld. But instead of falling to the grass, it hovered in midair, casting a baleful light over the garden. And now the outermost wards broke, and the Empress’s army rushed towards them.
‘There are so many,’ breathed Campion.
‘Now!’ called Thorn from below, and at once she and all the archers with her grew to human size and loosed their arrows in a long arc over the field beyond. They could hardly expect to hit anything like that, thought Rhosmari; they’d barely had time to glimpse the Empress’s soldiers, let alone aim at them…