She concentrated during her lectures as she always did, apart from one moment when she noticed that a girl a few seats in front of her was wearing a yellow blouse. It reminded her of the yellow blouse that she’d seen Markus put on. How peculiar that had been. Moonglow still thought he’d looked attractive.
The daylight was fading by the time Moonglow caught the underground home. Her shoulder was sore where Kalix had hit her. Every time Moonglow thought about that she became annoyed. After saving her life she deserved better than to be assaulted. She tried to banish her annoyance. ‘Kalix is only young. Her life is difficult,’ she thought. At nineteen, Moonglow was only two years older than Kalix, but Moonglow thought of her as much younger, somehow.
Daniel was cheerful after an afternoon sleeping on the couch. He offered to make Moonglow tea, as he generally did. Moonglow placed her bag on the table and sank into a chair.
“Cuneiform is just terrible,” she said.
“Of course it is,” agreed Daniel. “Only a mad woman would dream of learning it. Do you want some biscuits?”
Moonglow nodded and Daniel went off to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later, looking thoughtful.
“There’s a werewolf frolicking in the back yard.”
“Frolicking?”
“Yes. Well maybe not frolicking exactly. But definitely moving around with enthusiasm.”
Moonglow hurried to the kitchen. She peered out of the window. Their flat was above a shop, and the back yard was a small unused square of concrete, one floor below. There, in the dim evening light, a werewolf appeared to be playing with something. A tennis ball, perhaps. Moonglow tried to open the window. It was stuck where some previous tenant had painted the frame. After some effort she managed to wrench it open.
“Kalix?”
The werewolf looked up.
“Hello,” said Kalix. Then, as if it was quite natural for her to be in Moonglow’s back yard, she started playing with the tennis ball again.
“Have you come back to visit us?” asked Moonglow.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Kalix shrugged. She had of course come back to visit Daniel and Moonglow but was not about to admit it, even if it meant carrying on some absurd pretence that she had ended up in the yard by accident.
“I’m just wandering around.”
Moonglow sensed that Kalix didn’t want to acknowledge she had come back specifically to see them. She smiled.
“Would you like to come up anyway? We’d like to see you.”
Kalix pretended to consider it for a while.
“Well okay,” she said, eventually. Moonglow was expecting Kalix to climb back over the fence into the street before calling at the front door but Kalix simply scrambled up the fence then leapt for the kitchen window, grabbing onto the sill and hauling herself through. It was an impressively athletic feat. Once inside the kitchen, she attempted to look diffident, though this expression was difficult to pull off in werewolf form.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Moonglow, who had quite forgotten her previous annoyance.
“It is,” said Daniel. “Do you want some tea?”
69
Moonglow didn’t expect an apology from Kalix for hitting her which was just as well. Kalix didn’t mention it. The werewolf was still pretending that it was some sort of co-incidence she’d ended up in their back yard. She stood awkwardly around the kitchen for a while but as she saw that Moonglow was not going to lecture her, or demand an apology, she began to relax.
“I saw boats,” she said, unexpectedly.
“Boats?”
“On the river.”
Kalix told them about her day by the river, though she didn’t mention her encounter with the hunters.
“Why does the water in the river get higher and lower?” asked Kalix.
“It’s tidal,” Daniel told her, explaining that the level of the River Thames would rise and fall as the tide came in and out. Kalix seemed very vague on the subject of tides, which struck Moonglow as odd. The tides were affected by the moon and she would have assumed that any werewolf would know all about the moon and its effects. But Kalix, as soon became evident, was not well acquainted with life around her. The young werewolf was ignorant of many things. She didn’t know who the Prime Minister was or what nuclear energy meant. She’d never learned maths beyond the most basic arithmetic, and her grasp of history was so shaky that she imagined almost everyone she’d heard of to be still alive. Shakespeare, for instance, she understood to be still writing film scripts because she’d once sneaked into a cinema to watch Romeo and Juliet.
The young werewolves of the MacRinnalch Clan were privately educated for the first years of their lives but for the past hundred years or so Verasa had established the custom of sending them to normal schools to complete their education. The Mistress of the Werewolves thought this was a better way for them to learn the ways of society. As soon as the family felt confident that one of their young werewolves was responsible enough not to give their true nature away they would be enrolled. This had never happened with Kalix.
“I never got sent to school,” she confessed. “They said I’d bite the teachers. I was meant to have a tutor at the castle but I didn’t like him so I never went. But it doesn’t matter, I learned everything I need. Gawain taught me how to fight.”
Moonglow glanced at the cover of Kalix’s journal which was hanging out of her tattered bag.
kalix jurnil privt. kalix diry doont rede
There was something pathetic in the young werewolf’s attempts to write, particularly as she was so keen on keeping a journal. She was so bad at it. The first time Moonglow had seen her handwriting she had assumed that it was some sort of joke. Everything was spelled so badly it reminded her of an adult cartoon mocking the spelling of a child. From the extreme shakiness of the letters she wondered if it might have been written when Kalix was in werewolf form, and was finding it difficult to hold a pen. But apparently it was her best effort. Moonglow felt overwhelmingly sad about this. She had a strong urge to offer to teach Kalix to read and write better. She held off from mentioning it, suspecting that Kalix would be insulted, but determined to help her if she could find a way of doing it tactfully.
“Can I have another pizza?” asked Kalix. “With extra meat?”
“Okay,” said Daniel. “I’ll call them.”
Kalix was familiar with money because she rarely had any. Her face fell.
“I can’t pay for it,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re our guest,” said Daniel reassuringly. It struck him for the first time that if Kalix stayed with them she was going to cost a lot to feed, if last night was anything to go by. Her appetite in werewolf form was immense. Daniel didn’t mind in theory, being a generous sort of person, but he had very little spare money.
“I want to watch TV,” said Kalix, while they waited for the pizza.
Moonglow and Daniel rarely watched TV. Moonglow didn’t like it. Daniel did but didn’t want Moonglow thinking he was the sort of person who wanted to watch TV all the time. Kalix was keen however, and as soon as they switched it on she sat down right in front of it like a child. Daniel showed her how the remote control worked. She struggled a little with her large paw and the small buttons but finally mastered it. Moonglow went upstairs to dump her books in her room and Daniel followed her up.
“She likes TV and pizza,” said Daniel. “We seem to have adopted a child.”
“You like TV and pizza,” pointed out Moonglow.
“Well I never claimed to be mature. You think she’ll be the same tomorrow?”
“The same how?”
“Vomiting and attacking us.”
“I hope not,” replied Moonglow, dubiously. “I can’t go through all that again.”
Despite her doubts, Moonglow was delighted that Kalix had returned.
“I really hope she stays this time.”
Daniel arrived back downsta
irs just in time to prevent the werewolf Kalix from answering the door to the pizza delivery man. When the food was paid for she grabbed it eagerly and hurried back to the television.
“What’s the rush?”
“This is the best programme ever,” said Kalix, “I never knew they made such a good programme.”
She crawled even closer to the screen.
“What is it?” asked Daniel.
“Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”
Daniel sat down on the couch.
“Also one of my favourites. Move over, you’re blocking my view.”
70
The morning after the funeral Gawain was brought before Verasa. She stared at him coldly. This young werewolf had caused her a great deal of trouble. Indeed, it would not be stretching things too far to say that his affair with Kalix had directly contributed to Kalix’s subsequent attack on the Thane. It was after Gawain’s banishment that Kalix’s madness had really become severe.
Verasa was surprised to find the thought floating into her mind that Gawain was in fact very handsome. Such a thought would not normally have occurred to her. She had seen too many young werewolves grow up to pay any particular note to their looks any more. Yet there was something about Gawain. Something brooding. Something poetic perhaps, though he was a strong young wolf. She could see why her youngest daughter had fallen for him. Perhaps if she had noticed Gawain’s attractiveness before she’d have taken care not to let Kalix be alone with him, though as his family were so respectable, she couldn’t really have prevented them from visiting the castle. It was Gawain’s great-great-grandfather who had brought the Begravar knife to the clan. This was one of the MacRinnalchs’ most treasured possessions and the tale of its finding was among their legendary exploits.
“I could have you killed.”
It was true. Gawain remained silent.
“Under the terms of your banishment you were forbidden to return to the castle. Why did you come?”
Gawain looked the Mistress of the Werewolves straight in the eye.
“I wanted to see Kalix,” he said.
“How very romantic,” retorted Verasa. “Unfortunately my daughter has no wish to see you.”
“I’d like to hear her say that herself.”
“What you would like is of no consequence,” said Verasa, harshly, and rose from her chair. It was rare for the Mistress of the Werewolves to give vent to her anger but when she did she was an intimidating woman. Verasa swiftly brought her temper under control. She had less time than she would have liked to deal with Gawain. There were many werewolves to see before they left the castle, and much to be done in the matter of strengthening support for Markus.
“Are you here looking for your sentence to be commuted? Do you regret your behaviour?”
Gawain took a step forward, again meeting Verasa’s eye.
“The only thing I regret is that I accepted the banishment. I should have taken Kalix away from the castle. When I find her, I’ll take her away with me and no one will stop me.”
“Such bravado,” said Verasa dryly. “Had I time to talk to you, I might be impressed. But probably not.”
She motioned to her guards.
“Put him in the small cell beneath my chambers. I’ll question him later.”
Gawain was led off to the cell. While not as dank and gloomy as the dungeon, it was not a comfortable place. The key turned in the lock and Gawain was once more incarcerated.
71
Thrix arrived back in her offices like a woman with a mission. She had work to do and a spy to find.
“Ann. I need to see our designers and our marketing people. Have them in my office in thirty minutes. Get Milan on the phone and then place a call to the agency in New York. We have a new show to do and not much time to prepare. Then bring me the personal files of everyone that works here.”
Ann nodded and went off to organise the schedule. Thrix hoped that the spy didn’t turn out to be Ann. Ann was the most efficient personal assistant she’d ever had. If she was the traitor it would be a crushing blow. At the castle it had been hard to concentrate on her business. The meetings of the Great Council had been fraught and the atmosphere afterwards had been worse. Thrix cursed the whole sorry business and hoped that it might no longer affect her. She knew this hope to be in vain. Sarapen wasn’t going to roll over and let their mother manoeuvre him out of the Thaneship. There would be trouble.
The Enchantress shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts of her family. She wondered if the Fire Queen might be exaggerating her recent experiences of fashion piracy. Might Princess Kabachetka have simply been turning up to events in clothes of which Malveria was envious? It was possible. When it came to fashion Malveria was very passionate and jealous, and might mistake another’s good dress sense for theft of her own style.
Thrix took a small silver bowl from her drawer, dropped some herbs into it and waved her hand, causing the herbs to ignite. She was sending a message to Malveria’s realm and she hoped that the Fire Queen would not be too busy to answer. She began to mutter the words of the spell.
“I call thee, Malver - ”
“You’re back!” cried the Fire Queen, instantly materialising in front of the desk. “Splendid! I’ve been waiting for your call. How was the gloomy castle?”
“Gloomier than ever, and very stressful. Mother managed to make sure Sarapen wasn’t elected.”
“Then who is the new Thane?”
“Still undecided. Sarapen or Markus.”
“Ah,” said Malveria. “Then there will be a war. Do you want me to bring troops?”
“No, Malveria. If there’s a war I’m staying well out of it.”
Malveria perched herself elegantly on the edge of Thrix’s desk, checking herself in the wall mirror as she did so. She was particularly pleased with the area of stocking beneath her skirt which showed between her knee and ankle. Stockings had until quite recently been unknown among the Hiyasta. The Queen had taken some back to her realm where they were examined by elemental tailors who then sub-contacted the work out to fairy weavers. The result was some fabulously sheer stockings, finer than could be found anywhere in London.
“Did you pick up any fashion ideas? But no, they are all tartan-clad barbarians at your Scottish castle, yes? Were you obliged to wear a kilt?”
The Fire Queen knew perfectly well that this was not the case but liked to pretend that Thrix had escaped from a land of barbarians before making her way south.
“Malveria, on those recent occasions when you’ve arrived here in tears - ”
“In tears? Surely you exaggerate. A slight moistening of the eyes, perhaps.”
“Yes, well, have you giving me an accurate description of events? Was there really someone there in an exact copy of the clothes I designed for you?”
“Absolutely. In a percent. How many percent is absolutely?”
“One hundred.”
“Then it is one hundred percent. Copies, every item. The blue dress, the silver slippers, the little yellow shawl with the beautiful stitching which you swore had come that day from your own embroiderer.”
“It had. Malveria, this is very serious. And not just for you. If my designs are being copied by someone with enough connections to get them into your dimension what chance do I have here in this world? I’m meant to be showing clothes in Milan and New York soon. If this carries on it’ll ruin my business.”
“What will you do?”
Thrix wasn’t entirely sure.
“It would help if we knew where Princess Kabachetka gets her clothes. Presumably her designer is the person who’s stealing my ideas. We might find a link between her designer and some spy in my operation.”
The Fire Queen was following this closely. When it came to planning and strategy, Malveria had a lot of experience. Her frivolous manner entirely forgotten for the moment, she considered Thrix’s words.
“It would be difficult for me to learn this. I have no easy way of obtaining informatio
n about the Princess. Relations between myself and her mother the Empress Asaratanti are not good.”
“I thought everything was peaceful in your realms these days?”
“We will not go to war. But we do not like each other. The Empress heard that I had been casting doubts on the naturalness of her figure - she went to Los Angeles to have her breasts lifted, you know - and since then relations have been very cool. But really, I do not understand how she thought she could get away with it undetected. The Empress is two thousand years old if she’s a day and now she has the breasts of a teenager. One could not help but notice. As for her whorish little daughter Kabachetka, she has never forgiven me for stealing three of the five lovers she was scheduled to meet on the last solstice.”
Thrix looked at Malveria pointedly.
“What? I left her two. That was more than enough for a woman like her. I doubt very much if even these two were satisfied.”
The Enchantress smiled.
“So you can’t find out anything about the Princess’s clothes designer?”
“I did not say that. It will be difficult, but for a woman who once defeated the three-headed crimson dragon alone and unaided, nothing is impossible. Still they sing songs of that incredible exploit. Do you like my stockings?”
“They’re beautiful,” said Thrix, appreciatively.
“Each pair costs three pieces of gold. The fairies, they do not work for nothing. But it is worth three pieces of gold to make each leg look fabulous. Even Agrivex complimented them, and Agrivex, as a rule, does not care for stockings.”
“Agrivex? Who’s that?”
“My niece. Have I never mentioned her to you?”
“I thought you’d done away with all your family?” said Thrix.