Confused by the onslaught of the courtyard Magyk, the Garmin was standing still, its big, heavy head swaying from side to side. Tod could tell it had not seen her. She had a few moments to retrieve the password—and she knew that if she hesitated, those moments would be gone. Going against all her instincts Tod crept down the steps, toward the slip of purple and toward the Garmin. Reaching the last step but one, she snatched up the card and turned to run back up. Her sudden movement was her downfall.
Click-click-click.
A metallic flash of yellow eyes caught her gaze. Tod tried to look away but all her strength had left her. Nothing seemed to work anymore.
Click-clicker-click. Click-clicker-clicker-click.
No more than half a minute later, the tall silver doors to the Wizard Tower opened and Dandra Draa came hurrying out. She stopped and listened, then she hurried down the steps. The Magyk was disturbed—something was wrong.
PART VII
AN INCURSION OF ILL INTENT
Marcia Overstrand was sitting in her favorite place in the world—a window seat high up in the circular, central room of her Keep.
Marcia rarely went to bed before the early hours of the morning, and many a night would she wander through the Keep with only a lighted candle for company, getting to know every nighttime creak, every shadow, every strip of moonlight that glanced in through its arrow-slit windows. After the thrum of the Wizard Tower, so full of people demanding her time, Marcia savored the luxury of being alone, of having space and time to think and maybe—when she finally unwound from the frenetic years of being responsible for everything—rediscovering her own personal Magyk.
To reach her window, Marcia had climbed some narrow steps set into the window alcove, which nestled inside the ten-feet-thick walls, and was now sitting on the rug and cushions, gazing down at the scene below. The nearly new moon cast little light, but lanterns illuminated the lumps and bumps of the ancient, earth-covered outer walls that surrounded the Keep. Beyond these was a fine stone quay—newly constructed with a line of lanterns placed along it, ready to guide a ship called the Cerys safely home up the wide and wild estuary.
Reveling in the silence, the peace of the old stones and the knowledge that no one was going to bang on her door and demand that she do something right now, Marcia gazed dreamily out at the night. The water was high and Marcia—who had once paid very little attention to tides and all things concerning boats, but who now knew the tide times backward—wondered if tonight she would see the Cerys coming home once more.
The evening mist began to roll in. Soon it covered the white stone of the quay and was creeping up the grass. It lay low like a blanket so that above it, Marcia could still see the star-filled sky. With the arrival of the mist, Marcia supposed she had her Keep to herself for another night. She settled herself among the cushions and picked up a much-thumbed book, Marwick’s housewarming gift to her, a precious copy of The Ancient Ways of the World. Marcia drew her thick woolen cloak around her against the night chill that was creeping in. She turned to chapter thirteen, ominously titled “Incursions of Ill Intent,” and began to read.
Marcia was not entirely alone in her Keep. On the lower levels lived three Drummins. Drummins were small humanoid creatures who originally came from the Great Chamber of Fyre below the Castle. Marcia had been deeply suspicious of Drummins when she had first encountered them, for they were the result of the ancient Alchemists tinkering with human life, of which she did not approve. But over the seven years since their rediscovery, Marcia had grown to like and respect them. And so, when she had moved into the Keep and three elderly Drummins had offered to come with her, Marcia had not needed much persuading. They were quiet, practical creatures and she knew she could rely on them.
Fabius, Lucius and Claudius Drummin preferred not to venture aboveground. Their domain was beneath the earth and they were perfectly happy guarding the Hub and tending the fire in the kitchen. So when Marcia heard a soft, apologetic cough beside her, she looked up to see a pair of ginger eyebrows beneath which the large dark eyes of Fabius Drummin gazed at her. The Drummin’s broad, suckered fingers gripped the deep stone windowsill and his face was anxious beneath his long, plaited beard.
Marcia put her book down at once. “What is it, Fabius?” she asked.
Fabius was a Drummin of few words; like most Drummins, he preferred to use signing. “Trouble,” he said.
Marcia was down the window steps in an instant. The Drummin scurried across the main chamber and Marcia hurried after him, heading through the archway and onto the stone spiral stairs that would take them down to the lower levels. Fabius turned around and placed his finger to his lips to caution Marcia to be quiet; Marcia was glad that she was wearing her soft purple fur boots, which allowed her to pad as silently as any Drummin—although clearly not quite as silently as Fabius would have liked. They descended through three levels. The first level was the entrance chamber, and once they were past that and heading down to the second level, the temperature began to rise. This was what the Drummins called the Fire Pit, though it was actually the kitchen where they tended the fire, cooked very simple food and slept.
Marcia and Fabius continued down the narrow, gently curving stairs, with a musty smell of damp earth becoming ever stronger as they headed for the Hub.
The Hub itself was relatively small. Down in the foundations of the Keep, the walls were extremely thick, but radiating into them like spokes from a wheel were twelve vaulted tunnels, each with a stone arch at its opening. The arches were labeled with PathFinder numbers one to twelve. The tunnels did not appear to be long—about twenty feet at the most—because each one ended in strange swirling white mist, which Marwick had called the Vanishing Point.
Marcia hurried into the Hub to find the other two Drummins waiting, their notoriously sharp flick-knives held ready to open in the blink of an eye.
What is the thing? Marcia signed. She was not as good at Drummin signing as she wanted to be and her attempts provided the Drummins with much amusement, though they appreciated the fact she was trying to learn.
Garmin out of Way Two, Claudius signed, pointing at the arch behind him with the figure II on the keystone.
Into Seven, added Lucius, rather unnecessarily pointing at the almost opposite arch sporting the number VII.
Unfortunately, finished Fabius.
Marcia was horrified. Too flustered to sign, she whispered, “Garmin? Are you sure?”
The three Drummins nodded in unison.
Shh, Fabius signed. They are coming.
Which road? Marcia signed.
Seven.
A feeling of relief washed over Marcia. If the Garmin were coming back from the Wizard Tower so soon, surely they would not have had time to do anything terrible. Marcia’s relief did not last long—a moment later a streak of white burst out of Way VII. She was aghast. The creatures—a terrifying mixture of reptile and human—were far bigger than she had expected. They hurtled across the Hub, oblivious to its occupants, and then they were gone, white skin and sinew disappearing into the shadows of Way II.
Marcia was shocked. She raced across to Way II and, summoning all her energy, she pulled a shimmering purple Magykal Seal across its arch to protect it against any more Incursions of Ill Intent. Marcia was just beginning on the next arch—for she had no idea what else might be coming through or from where—when a shout from the Drummins made her swing around. Coming out of Way VII was another Garmin, but this one was in great distress. Limping, its mouth hanging slackly open with thick drools of saliva dripping down, its flat, forked black tongue lolling out, the creature blundered blindly toward Way II, hit the Seal and bounced off, stunned. Marcia and the Drummins froze, revulsion prickling their skin. They watched the creature stagger in circles with its great flat head drooping down and then wander unsteadily out of the Hub and up the stairs.
Three Drummin flick-knives snapped open. “We will get it,” Fabius said.
Stunned, Marcia watched the Drummin
s race up the stairs in pursuit. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and stop her hands from shaking. She must Seal the other Ways—and fast. Marcia was renewing her attention to Way III when she heard a hollow, echoing sound coming from Way VII—footsteps. Human footsteps. Hurried. Panicked.
A moment later, Dandra Draa came racing out, carrying a large, shiny silver cocoon in her arms. “Alice!” cried Dandra.
“What?” said Marcia.
“Alice. Oh, I mean, Tod. She’s in here—in a Garmin cocoon. Oh, Marcia. I promised Cassi I’d look after her and look what’s happened! Oh, please help. Please!”
“Upstairs,” Marcia said briskly. “We need warmth, fire. We must hurry.” It was only as she headed across to the stairs that Marcia remembered the lone, injured Garmin at large somewhere above. She stopped, unsure what to do, and at that moment something huge and white appeared, airborne, heading down the stairs toward her. Marcia leaped out of the way just in time. The creature hit the flagstones with a crunch and lay immobile. A heavy footfall came thundering down the steps after it and, to Marcia’s astonishment, a piratical-looking man came into view, brandishing a heavy stick. “Milo!” she cried.
“Marcia!” gasped Milo.
Marcia looked down at the Garmin, leaking thick black fluid across the white flagstones of the Hub. “Is it dead?” she asked.
Milo poked the creature with his foot. “Yes.”
“Good,” said Marcia. “Come on, Dandra. Quickly now.”
Dandra gave Milo a strained smile as, bemused, he stepped back to let them pass. It took Milo a few seconds to recover his wits, and then he yelled up, “Marcia! What’s going on?”
“No time! Explain later!” Marcia called back.
From the foot of the stairs, Milo watched his wife of one year to the day disappear around the first spiral. He shook his head in bemusement. He had hoped that life here would be more simple, but he now realized how silly that had been. Marcia didn’t do simple.
COCOON
The silver cocoon lay on the rug in front of the impressive fireplace in the Great Chamber. Thanks to Milo the flames were roaring up into the tall stone chimneypiece, sending out the heat that Marcia wanted.
“I can’t believe there is a human being in there,” Milo said, somberly gazing at the cocoon. “It looks so tiny.”
“It has been Compressed,” said Marcia. “A Darke art, showing no respect for human life whatsoever. You’d be surprised how small the human body can become.”
“And still live?” asked Dandra anxiously.
“For a while.” Marcia was running her hands over the cocoon, trying to find a way in through the tough membrane, which felt as unyielding and strong as steel. “Milo, would you lend me your silver knife, please?”
Milo took out a small knife folded into its ebony handle and handed it to Marcia. She opened it and breathed on the blade, muttering, “Unbind the thing that binds, unwind the thing that winds.” Then she pushed the tip of the blade—like all Milo’s knives, razor-sharp—in between what she judged to be a join in the membrane. To her relief, she was right. Marcia plunged her hand in and felt the body of a small human beneath. “Milo, Dandra. Take hold of this horrid stuff. Pull it away before it sticks back together again.”
Milo and Dandra both took hold of the unpleasantly sticky substance and pulled. It resisted but neither was going to be defeated. They tugged at the membrane so it stretched out like a long, transparent piece of silk. Marcia began frantically sawing at it with the blade. Suddenly, it was cut and like a spring released from tension, the cocoon fell apart.
Inside was the folded-up form of a girl, legs and arms crossed like, thought Marcia, a dressed goose ready for dinner.
“Good Lord,” said Milo.
“Oh, Alice!” gasped Dandra.
Milo had never seen Marcia “at work,” as he called it. He watched in awe as Marcia lifted Tod’s head, which was limp and heavy, and gently moved her damp, matted hair away from her bluish-white face. He saw Marcia take a deep breath in, and in, and in, until it seemed impossible that she could breathe in any more without bursting. He saw her lean over the girl’s face and begin to breathe out in a slow, steady stream, her warm, Magykal breath a soft, pale pink against the night air.
As Marcia was breathing out, Milo realized that he was doing the same. But Milo ran out of breath long before Marcia did. On and on, the long, thin stream of pinkish air curled out from her mouth and settled over Tod’s pale, damp features. And just as Milo was convinced that Marcia could breathe out not a moment longer, he saw Tod’s eyelids flicker and then suddenly, her dark gray eyes were wide open, staring straight at him.
“You’re safe. Sleep now,” Marcia murmured.
“Oh. Oh, thank goodness,” Dandra whispered.
Tod took in a long, deep, shuddering breath; the air tasted sweet and smoky and wonderfully warm. The coldness of the reptilian slime had chilled her to the bone and now the warmth set her shivering. She wanted to ask where she was, what had happened, but her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Someone put a blanket around her shoulders and Tod pulled it tighter. She felt as though she would never be warm again.
“Alice . . . oh, Alice.” Someone else put her arms around her and Tod felt warm breath on her face. She found herself being gently laid down on cushions and blankets, soft and warm, and slowly, she began to feel more human. Tod looked up and saw three worried, pale faces smiling down at her and she savored the presence of humans—their body warmth, the expressiveness of their faces. Someone placed another blanket over her and Tod closed her eyes, knowing that she was safe.
Dandra got shakily to her feet. “She’s sleeping now,” she whispered, gazing down at Tod, who looked very small and thin beneath the blankets. Dandra hugged Marcia. “Thank you, oh, thank you,” she said. “But I must go. I have a patient in Sick Bay, dying, I think. And I’ve left the Apprentice on his own. Oh, I don’t want to go, but I must.”
“Dandra, it’s all right,” Marcia said. “We will look after your Alice. We’ll stand guard all night, don’t you worry.” She stood back and looked at her friend. “You could do with some rest yourself. Goodness, what have you done to your hand?” Blood was dripping off Dandra Draa’s knuckles.
Dandra looked at her hand in surprise. “I must have hurt it when I punched that Garmin on the nose.”
“You hit a Garmin?” Marcia was amazed.
“Well, I had to get Alice away from it somehow. Couldn’t think what else to do, really.”
“Oh, Dandra, you are amazing,” said Marcia. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Milo will watch over Tod,” she said. “I’ll see you home.”
“Don’t be long,” said Milo.
Down in the Hub, at the foot of the stairs, Dandra and Marcia stepped over the dead Garmin lying folded like a squashed spider in a pool of ink. They both shuddered. “Milo will clear it up in the morning,” Marcia said briskly.
Before she left the Hub, Marcia placed a Seal on every Way except for VII. And when she returned from taking Dandra back to the Wizard Tower, she Sealed Way VII, too.
Upstairs in the Great Chamber in the red glow cast by the fire, Marcia found Milo waiting beside the sleeping figure of Tod.
“How is she?” Marcia whispered.
“Fine,” said Milo. “Sleeping soundly.”
“I’ll watch her all night,” said Marcia. “Just to make sure.”
“All night?” asked Milo, dismayed. “But, Marcia, I came back especially.”
Marcia reached out and touched Milo’s hand. “I am so pleased you did. I was sure you hadn’t made it. The mist came in so fast.”
“I left Cerys on the seaward quay and rowed up,” said Milo. “Followed the mist as it rolled in. I had to be here.”
Marcia smiled happily. “Well, we can spend the night here by the fire. I’ll ask Lucius to do us some supper.”
Milo looked downcast. Cooking was not one of a Drummin’s finest skills. “You still don’t
have a cook, then?”
“I don’t want my Keep cluttered up with people—especially people who cook. They are nothing but trouble,” Marcia said. “Anyway, Lucius is getting much better. He’s very good at omelets. And gooseberry bake.”
“Omelet and gooseberry bake it is, then,” said Milo stoutly. “I’ll go and tell him, shall I?” He got to his feet.
It was only later, when Milo went down to the Fire Pit to pick up the supper, that he realized he had not made himself clear. In one large dish sat an omelet wrapped around a pile of gooseberries covered with cheesy bread crumbs. “It’s a good thing I also brought some Trading Post chocolates,” said Milo, handing Marcia a large, velvet-covered box tied with a big gold ribbon. “Happy anniversary.”
GRULA-GRULA
The next morning, Tod felt very nearly human again. She wanted to go back to the Wizard Tower, but Marcia felt Tod’s forehead and frowned.
“You are still somewhat cold, Alice,” she said. “You need to get warm all the way through. Come and sit in the sun, there is nothing better for getting rid of the lingering chill of Darkenesse.”
And so Tod spent the morning sitting in Marcia’s window alcove, soaking up the sun and watching Milo’s ship, the Cerys, come in on the high tide. In her hand she held a beautiful silver whistle covered in Magykal symbols, which Marcia had given her.
“The Hub is secure and the Drummins will take good care of you,” Marcia had said, “but even so, I’d like you to have this. If you need help, just blow. I’ll hear.”
“But how?” Tod asked. “Aren’t you going to the Wizard Tower?”
Marcia held up a twin of the whistle, which she was wearing around her neck. “It’s a nice simple way of using Magyk,” she explained. “You blow your whistle and this one sounds. We’ll do a test. I’ll go over here and then you whistle.” Marcia strode across the room to the stairs. “Okay?”