Turning to Buba, Isabeau hooted desperately, Go-hooh! Pursue-hooh!
Immediately the little elf-owl took flight from the bedhead where she had perched, watching the guards with inscrutable golden eyes. She soared out the open window while Sukey screamed, ‘Stop it! Stop the witch’s familiar.’
The guards were all shouting at her and menacing her with their spears but Isabeau ignored them, watching until Buba was out of sight. Then she turned back to them, clad only in the blue and silver brocade of the bedspread.
‘Ye are all fools,’ she said icily. ‘The heir to the throne has been kidnapped and ye waste time accusing me? Do ye no’ ken that I am the Banprionnsa Isabeau NicFaghan, sister to the Banrìgh herself and apprentice to the Keybearer Meghan NicCuinn?’
The guards all shifted uneasily, unable to meet her eyes.
The head guard said stoutly, ‘We ken who ye are, my lady. That makes no difference to us in the performance o’ our duty.’
Isabeau looked at him sternly but nodded. ‘And neither should it,’ she answered. ‘But ye are wasting time standing around accusing me. We need to send out a search party straightaway.’
Sukey began to cry again. ‘I should’ve kent she had some wicked plan up her sleeve when she insisted I leave the prionnsachan in her care. His Highness has never trusted her, never! Ye ken that as well as I do, Herman, dinna ye?’
Herman sighed heavily. ‘It be true he did say she could be the spy, Sukey, but—’
Sukey sobbed. ‘I only hope that it is no’ already too late! Wha’ if she has murdered the wee prionnsachan like she did their wee cousin? She must need their bodies for some wicked spell she be brewing up.’
‘Sukey, why are ye saying such things?’ Isabeau cried, caught between anger, distress and sheer disbelief. ‘Ye ken I could never do such things. I be no cursehag to use the organs o’ murdered children in my work …’
Sukey’s sobs became hysterical. ‘My poor laddiekins, my poor wee lads!’
‘And ye must ken that I never harmed Bronwen, I’d never harm a hair on her precious wee head …’
‘So what happened to her then?’ one of the guards asked. ‘Ye disappear into thin air wi’ her one night, then return months later wi’ never a word to anyone about wha’ happened to her.’
Isabeau stared from one to the other, explanations trembling on her lips. She wanted to cry out, Her own mother has her, I gave her back to her mother! But she could not speak. It was too hard to explain, and she knew Lachlan had not wanted anyone to know in case Bronwen once again became the focus of rebellious factions. She closed her lips firmly, looking at the guards with angry, defiant eyes.
‘These be questions for her trial,’ the head guard said. ‘Happen we had best take her into custody and see what we can do to track down the prionnsachan. If only Himself was here! It be hard to ken what to do. We had best send a message to Tìrsoilleir and let them ken the lads have been taken. It will be a month or more before they can return themselves, though, and there be no-one here to take command but auld Cameron …’
Isabeau groaned. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was a very old man who had served both Lachlan’s father and his brother faithfully. He should have retired years ago but Lachlan was too soft-hearted to insist, knowing how much the position meant to the kindly old man. Cameron would be greatly distressed by the news the boys had been kidnapped. He would dither about, wringing his hands and giving contradictory orders until the whole palace was running about like chickens with their heads cut off. And by now the swan-carriage could be anywhere.
‘If only Meghan was here!’ Isabeau cried despairingly. ‘She could use the Scrying Pool to see where the boys are. Oh, if only she were here!’ She clutched the bedspread closer about her naked form, then said with the ring of command in her voice. ‘Send a message to the Tower at once! Tell Arkening the Dreamer what has happened and ask her to scry for the boys through the Pool. Tell her the boys were taken by—’
Sukey’s sobs rose in a piercing scream. ‘How could ye, how could ye?’ she accused Isabeau. ‘Your own nephew! And dear wee Cuckoo. Och, ye are an evil-hearted witch.’
Isabeau’s voice was drowned by hers as the nursemaid threw herself across the bed, sobbing hysterically. The guards hastened to calm her and Herman gestured with his spear. ‘Happen ye had best come with us, my lady.’
‘Tell her the boys were stolen by a woman in a swan-carriage!’ Isabeau called. ‘Tell her I think it must be Margrit the Thistle! Tell her to tell Meghan …’
But no-one listened.
Isabeau gave a shriek of frustration and soared up towards the ceiling, clothed in the golden magnificence of an eagle’s feathers. Her keen eyes scanned the room once, noting the panicked confusion of the guards, the dismay in the eyes of the nursemaid peeking up through her fingers. Then she swooped down, seizing her jewelled rings, the owl talon on its leather thong and her staff of power in her strong eagle claws. The guards lunged at her with their spears but she shrieked in rage, slashing at them with her talons. As they scrambled back in instinctive fear, Isabeau launched herself into the air again, soaring out the window and into the night.
I must scry to Meghan and to Iseult and let them ken what has happened, she thought. And then I must go and rescue the lads myself, for I can see no-one here will do anything useful!
The garden lay below in patterns of moon-silver and shadow-black. Isabeau soared away over the trees towards the Tower of Two Moons. She circled down, landed lightly on the terrace, and transformed back into her own shape, her rings and necklace clenched in one hand, her staff in the other. Although the usual wave of exhaustion swept over her, she did not wait for the dizziness to subside but ran inside the great doors and through the halls and corridors until she reached a small inner courtyard in the heart of the four spires.
In the very centre of the courtyard was a round pool, enclosed within stone arches all fretted with entwining lines and knots, and covered over with a crystal dome that glittered in the light of the two moons.
Isabeau sank down on one of the stone benches and gazed into the pool. For a long time she tried to locate the boys but received nothing but an impression of rushing air, swan feathers, stars and the crack and whistle of a whip. So she turned her attention instead to her sister, desperately calling her name. Iseult! Iseult!
For a long time there was no response, then slowly the gleams of silver light on the water’s surface shifted and changed, became her sister’s face.
‘Isabeau, what is it? It’s the wee small hours. Ye woke me up …’ Iseult’s voice was sleepy. Suddenly her tone sharpened. ‘Isabeau, ye’re naked. What’s wrong?’
‘Iseult, I’m so sorry! It all happened so quickly. I swear it was no’ my fault!’ Isabeau gulped back tears. ‘I’m sorry. It’s the laddiekins. It’s Donncan and Neil. They’ve been kidnapped.’
‘They’ve been what? Isabeau! Try and calm yourself. Tell me what has happened.’
Isabeau did her best, though she was so torn between anger and tears that her explanations were rather garbled. When she explained that the guards had been quick to suspect her because they had overheard Lachlan’s accusation all those months ago, she saw Iseult’s mouth thin in sudden anger. Her twin said nothing, though, waiting till Isabeau had told all of her story.
‘So ye think it was the Thistle who stole the boys?’ Iseult said when Isabeau had finished. ‘Are ye sure?’
‘Nay, how can I be?’ Isabeau replied. ‘All I saw was the swan-carriage and a tall woman with dark hair. I just ken the story o’ how Margrit escaped Arran. Besides, she is Neil’s grandmother, is she no’? And she hates the MacCuinn clan, always has. She must hate Lachlan more than ever now she has been dethroned.’
Iseult nodded. Her face was very white, but she was in perfect control. ‘I must wake Lachlan. We shall set sail for home with the next tide. It will be at least a month before we are back, though, Isabeau. Ye must do what ye can to rescue them. I hate to think o’ Donnca
n and Neil in that cursehag’s hands. By the White Gods, I dread to think what plans she has for them! She’s like some swarthyweb spider, squatting in a dark corner and spinning her evil webs to choke and entangle us. We should have kent better than to imagine we were free o’ her!’
‘I sent Buba in pursuit,’ Isabeau said. ‘Let us pray to Eà she discovers where they have gone. I’ll get the boys back, I promise ye, Iseult! I be so sorry. If only I had no’ fallen asleep …’
‘Your wine was probably drugged,’ Iseult said. ‘I do no’ think they would’ve taken the chance o’ having a trained witch awake in the next room, no matter how powerful the Thistle may be. This would have been carefully planned, no doubt o’ that. Do no’ blame yourself, Beau.’
‘Lachlan will, though,’ Isabeau said bitterly. ‘He always thinks the worst o’ me.’
Iseult’s lips thinned. ‘Even Lachlan is no’ such a fool as to think ye can be blamed for this, twin. Besides, I think ye are right when ye say Sukey must be the one who has been betraying us for so long. It makes my blood boil to think o’ it! Why, she was never more than a few steps away from us at any time, living right within the royal suite. We never suspected her, never, with her sweet face and shy manner. Who would have guessed it?’
Isabeau’s eyes stung with tears. ‘I thought she was my friend. I canna believe it even now.’
‘No sense in blaming yourself, Beau. It is Lachlan and I who have been made the fools o’.’
Isabeau said, ‘I’d best be going. I swear I’ll bring Donncan back for ye, twin, and the wee Cuckoo too.’
‘Have a care for yourself, I beg ye. Margrit NicFóghnan is a powerful sorceress indeed. Do no’ put yourself in danger trying to get the boys back. I be sure she does no’ mean to harm them, just hold them to ransom for a return o’ her power …’
Isabeau could tell her twin was lying but she nodded and agreed, saying, ‘Aye, she would no’ hurt them, I’m sure. I’ll get them back, though, Iseult, I promise ye.’
‘May the Spinners be with ye.’ Iseult’s voice was suddenly choked with tears.
‘And with ye,’ Isabeau replied, her own vision obscuring. She knew how desperate Iseult must feel, being so many hundreds of miles away and helpless to do anything at all.
Once her twin’s face had dissolved away into ripples of moonlight once more, Isabeau concentrated on reaching Meghan. It took only a few seconds for the old sorceress’s face to materialise in the pool.
‘Isabeau, what has happened?’ Meghan’s voice was sharp with alarm. ‘I could feel your distress but all I have been able to see through my crystal ball are feathers and confusion. Have ye been changing shape?’
‘Aye, but I had to!’ Isabeau defended herself. Quickly she told the Keybearer what had happened. Meghan’s reaction was characteristically one of anger – at the guards for their stupidity, at Lachlan for his foolish prejudice against Isabeau which had fed their suspicions, and at herself for ever believing Margrit would be content to remain in exile.
‘I am the only one who can rescue the boys,’ Isabeau said when Meghan had finished expressing herself. ‘I can fly after them much faster than any search party could, even on the swiftest o’ horses. And I can ask the birds o’ the air and the creatures o’ the field if they saw the swans fly by. I’ll be able to sneak right up to her stronghold hidden in the shape o’ some animal. But I must make haste. It is already some hours since she left the palace. If only I had thought to become a golden eagle straightaway, I could have avoided all this fuss and trouble.’
‘If only, if only!’ the old sorceress snapped. ‘If wishes were pots and pans, then we’d have no need for tinkers.’
When she had broken off the connection with her guardian, Isabeau became aware of the noise of shouting and running feet. Lights blazed all through the great building around her. Isabeau had no desire to explain herself any further that night, nor to risk a confrontation with the palace guards. However, there were things in her room that she would need if she was going to undertake such a perilous journey. After a moment’s thought she hid her witch’s staff, rings and owl talon under one of the benches, then transformed herself into a large black rat.
None of the many people milling about the corridors noticed her dark shape slipping through the shadows, they were too busy exchanging news and conjectures to look down. Isabeau had some of her hurt feelings salved at the indignation most of the witches and apprentices expressed at the idea she could have been in any way involved. The guards were too busy searching for her to listen, though, and so Isabeau stayed her rat-shape until she had reached Meghan’s room. With no time to search for a rat’s way, she transformed herself back into a woman and opened the door as quietly as she should. She was shivering both with cold and the aftereffects of all her sorcerous work, but she ignored her physical straits, searching desperately through Meghan’s chest until she found a small black pouch of nyx hair.
‘Thank Eà!’ she sighed. She unceremoniously dumped the little bag out on the bed, smiling just a little as a peculiar collection of miscellaneous objects poured out until they covered the Keybearer’s huge canopied bed. Meghan kept many of her treasures in the bottomless bag, just in case she should ever need to make a quick exit. Isabeau could not afford to carry around such a load, though, particularly since one had to take things out in the order in which they were put in, which could make retrieving anything a long and rather boring task if the bottomless bag were too full. So Isabeau chose only what she needed from the pile, threw those objects back in the bag, and let herself out of Meghan’s room.
She transformed herself back into the black rat, and put her head through the drawstring of the pouch. Dragging it along with her, she crept down the crowded stairs. Her bedchamber door was wide open and Sukey was in there with two guards, riffling through Isabeau’s belongings in search, they said, of evidence. Anger began to win over hurt disbelief in Isabeau’s heart. She darted under the bed and used her clever rat paws to unlatch the chest hidden there. Her satchel of medicinal and spell-making herbs was inside and she drew it out with great difficulty, holding her breath as the buckles clinked against the floor. No-one noticed it over the sound of Sukey’s shrill orders, however, and so Isabeau was able to slowly manoeuvre it into the bag of nyx hair. She found her witch-knife and her old battered water bottle, her coin purse and a nest of three pewter bowls that fitted one inside the other. She was just pushing them into the bottomless bag when the bedspread was suddenly flung back and the chest dragged out into the light. Isabeau crouched down unnoticed as the guards began to go through her trunk.
With the black bag once more around her neck, Isabeau wriggled through a hole in the back of her cupboard to seize whatever clothes she could drag from their hooks. The sound of all her scrabbling must have alerted someone because there was a sudden hush and the cupboard door was thrown open. Isabeau peered out from under a pile of fallen clothes as a guard began to poke about inside. She saw Sukey standing by her desk, about to slide onto her finger a ring that flashed with golden fire. Rage ignited in Isabeau’s breast. That was Isabeau’s sorceress ring, the one made for her by the dragons! With a squeak of outrage, Isabeau leapt from the cupboard, straight for the nursemaid’s face.
Sukey screamed and dropped the ring. Isabeau dived and caught it up in her mouth. She then dashed back under the bed, crouching against the wall as spears were swiped under the bed. One spearhead missed her by a rat’s whisker and she bared her teeth and snarled. Blind rage fuelled her as she wove through the stomping boots and thrusting spears, scurrying out the door and into the safety of the dark.
Running as fast as her nimble rat paws could carry her, Isabeau made her way back down to the Scrying Pool. Once there she thrust her rings and owl talon into the nyx hair bag, then struggled to draw the mouth of the pouch over her staff of power. At last she managed it, the staff simply disappearing within the little pouch, even though it was almost as tall as Isabeau herself. She then scurried out into th
e dark garden, scrambling down a drainpipe and along a gutter, leaping into a tree and then down its trunk, dragging the black pouch along with her.
Once in the shelter of the moonlit garden, Isabeau changed into the shape of a blizzard-owl, deciding that was the most suitable shape for flying at night. It was the first time she had changed from one animal shape to another, and for a moment, everything lurched about her, all her rat senses overwhelmed by owl-sight and owl-wit. It was a horrible sensation, like falling from a great height and then being flung upwards again, her stomach left somewhere in between. Isabeau had to crouch in stillness for some minutes before she was able to spread her great white wing and take flight.
She had soon left the city far behind her, soaring silently above the forest, seeing every flicker of leaf, every scurry of mouse. It did not take her long to catch up with Buba, who was still flying valiantly in pursuit of the swan-carriage. The little elf-owl was trembling with exhaustion, for owls did not usually fly great distances. They required only occasional short bursts of speed to surprise their prey on the ground. Dwarfed by Isabeau’s immense size, the elf-owl could only tell her that the swans were flying south. Isabeau rubbed her round white head against Buba and thanked her with long, grateful hoots.
Owl pursue-hooh, she said. You-hooh snooze-hooh, stay-hooh. Owl return-hooh.
Owl go-hooh with you-hooh, Buba protested.
Too-hooh far-hooh. Owl return-hooh.
Buba nodded and hooted a mournful farewell. Isabeau spread her snowy wings and soared back up into the sky. All night she flew, only pausing to ask the owls of the forest if they had seen the swan-sleigh. They were able to direct her ever southwards, their soft hoots the only sound in the vast, silent night.
Just before dawn to sleep she transformed into her own shape, even her strong blizzard owl body unable to maintain the strenuous pace. When she woke it was midmorning. Tense with anxiety she ate hurriedly, then transformed into the shape of an eagle to fly onwards. Her sharp eyes soon spotted the dark circle of a campfire and she flew down to investigate. It was immediately apparent that the swan-carriage had stopped here, and all her protective rage was aroused once again when she found the print of a very small bare foot in the dust.