“Yes, yes, it was,” Celie said. With surprise she found that she was shaking so hard that her teeth chattered when she spoke.
“Let me take you to your room, Cel,” he said.
“No!” She said it a little too vehemently, and Rolf gave her an even more concerned look. “I just … I’ve never gotten a good look at the new map room.”
“Oh, really? It’s quite something,” Rolf said. “Follow me.”
He took her upstairs to a room that was basically the twin of the fabric room, except instead of bolt after bolt of fabric, spools of lace and ribbon, and tables scarred by large steel shears, there was rack after rack of rolled maps and high desks to lay them on. Some of the maps weren’t drawn on parchment, either, but were carved into wood, or burned on leather, or etched on silver.
The royal cartographer was there, working at a high, slanted desk. He looked up when they came in, an irritated expression on his face at being interrupted. But when he saw that it was Celie, he smiled.
“Ah! Your Highnesses! Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No,” Celie said. “I was just looking for a quiet place to study, and realized that I’d never seen this room.”
“I said I’d show her,” Rolf said. “We don’t want to bother you, though.”
“Not at all,” the royal cartographer said cheerfully. “Let me show you some wonderful things.”
He took them around the room and showed them scrolls of maps that had been done in wonderful rich colors. He showed them a map made of wood and clay on a tray that depicted the entire valley. The two etched silver maps were of the stars, though one of them showed constellations that Celie had never heard of before.
“Is this the southern sky?” Celie asked, looking at the strange star map.
“No,” the royal cartographer said. “These are no stars we’ve ever seen before. Even the Royal Wizard cannot identify them.
“But most of these maps are of places no one has ever seen,” he said, gesturing around the room with a broad sweep of his arm. “Cities that exist only in legend, or have never existed at all. Ranges of mountains drawn from the artist’s fancy, countries that could not possibly be real.”
“You don’t think so?”
Celie had lived all her life in magical Castle Glower, and had hatched and raised a griffin. She could imagine quite a lot of things that “could not be real” being real.
“I’ve traveled all over the world,” the cartographer said, matter-of-fact. “I’ve never seen mountain ranges like this, lakes this vast.” He tapped one of the scrolls. “But would you like to see my favorite of these fictional maps?”
Celie and Rolf both nodded eagerly.
The cartographer took a heavy, round platter from one of the shelves and set it on the largest table. Rolf and Celie crowded around to look, and discovered that it wasn’t a platter. It was a circular map made of beautifully inlaid exotic woods.
It depicted a country covered in forest, with a large lake in the northern part bordered by mountains. The trees of the forest were made of a wood that was greenish in color, and the lake was silvery gray. The mountains were a rich, dark wood that was nearly black, and the plains to the south were smooth caramel brown.
“I’ve never seen wood like this,” Rolf said, running a reverent finger over the green wood. “It’s like satin.”
“I’ve never seen most of these woods,” the cartographer confided. “Nor any country like this. Judging from the scale of the mountains and trees, this lake is enormous. And look at this,” he said, pointing to an emblem at the top of the map. “It’s worn, but do you see what this is?”
“A griffin,” Celie breathed.
In the blank space at the top of the map, above the border of the strange land, a griffin made of golden wood had been carefully inlaid. Time had faded its color, and many hands had worn it so smooth that Celie hadn’t noticed it until the cartographer pointed it out. The map reminded her of something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was that seemed so familiar.
“Could we take this down to the holiday feasting hall?” Rolf brushed a finger over the griffin.
Celie thought that the cartographer was going to object, but after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “As Your Highnesses wish. No one else is using it.”
“You can come and look at it as often as you like,” Celie offered. “It’s just that we’re doing a project for our brother, Bran, and gathering up all the things we find that have pictures or stories about griffins and putting them in one place to study.”
“That reminds me,” Rolf said. “You’ve traveled a lot; have you ever found anything in your travels about griffins? Other maps featuring them? Statues? Heard any interesting stories?”
The cartographer frowned, and thought for a while. “No,” he said after a minute. “I never have. There’s the flag, of course, but that’s all. There are no griffins anywhere else in Sleyne.”
The cartographer helped Rolf carry the wooden map down to the holiday feasting hall, where Celie was relieved to find no sign of Arkwright. The cartographer looked at their collection with bemusement, then excused himself to go back to the map room.
Rolf put an arm around Celie, concerned. He helped her carry the Hadlocke book back to her room, just in case Arkwright decided to steal it in the night. Celie was so distracted by the encounter with Arkwright and then the revelation of the wooden map that she almost couldn’t go flying with Rufus that night.
Almost.
Chapter
21
Flying with Rufus was Celie’s greatest joy.
Three nights in a row now she had gone out, circling the towers and swooping over the fields surrounding the Castle, clinging to Rufus in terrified delight. Pogue had had to rig some extra straps across the chest and back of the harness to hold it in place, and Celie had yet to dare lying along Rufus’s back. But she had started wearing her riding dress for convenience, with a thick, dark scarf wrapped around her head to ward off the chill of the air. A cloak was useless with the wind blowing the hood back, and the body of the cape streaming out behind her made her feel conspicuous.
Rufus’s landings were getting better, and so were his beginning jumps. Celie no longer felt like he was going to shoot her straight at the moon, or knock her silly by rolling her across the floor and into the stone walls headfirst when they returned to the tower. Impressed by his rapid progress, they had all agreed to try him with another rider, namely Bran, who was the tallest of the three of them but more slender than Pogue, and a wizard besides.
Rufus, however, was having none of it.
To say that he was balking was putting it mildly. He was backed against a wall, hissing, tail lashing, and occasionally swiping at their ankles with his eagle-like foreclaws. Bran was trying to win him over with a biscuit while he talked softly and steadily about what a fine, fine griffin Rufus was. Celie was telling Rufus over and over what a lovely person Bran was, and Pogue had Flat Squirrel and was threatening to tie it to Rufus’s harness so that he could never shake it off.
“I think this is a bad idea,” Bran said finally. “He doesn’t want me on his back, and that’s that. I’d hate to force him to carry me and have him shake me off a hundred paces in the air.”
“Well, I think it’s very bad of you, Rufus,” Celie said, even though she was secretly glad.
“Do you think he imprinted on Celie, like a duck on its mother?” Pogue said.
Bran nodded, tossing the biscuit. “It’s all yours, Rufus.”
The griffin dived for the treat, flipping it into his beak with one claw and swallowing it whole. Then he snuffled around the floor and, eventually, Bran, looking for more.
“Of course I’m his mother,” Celie said. She’d almost said “rider,” thinking of the books she’d been reading, but stopped herself. She didn’t feel ready to talk about that yet. It was too strange and wonderful to put herself in the same category as those warriors of legend. “I’ve taken care of him si
nce the moment he was hatched,” she went on. “I don’t see any other person or griffin here who can say the same.” She felt her ears turn red when she heard how that probably sounded. “Not that you all haven’t helped a great deal, and I’m very grateful,” she hastened to add.
“No,” Bran said, waving a hand, “it’s true. He’s definitely bonded to you.” He smiled ruefully.
“Do you think that the Castle might bring out another egg sometime?” Pogue asked.
“I can’t imagine anything more horrible,” Bran said. “If it does, I’m going to be very careful not to be there when it hatches.”
“I might like to hatch one,” Pogue said.
Celie fought down another stab of jealousy. She would love to be the one who hatched another egg. She wanted all the eggs … to be known as the only person in the world who knew how to raise and train a griffin! But realistically, she knew that she could only handle Rufus with the help of Bran, Pogue, and the Castle. More griffins would be far too much.
“We’ll have to tell Mother and Father if there is another egg,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t think we could hide two griffins!”
The others didn’t laugh, and no one said anything else for a moment. The unspoken thought they shared was that they wouldn’t be able to hide Rufus in this tower forever, even though there was only one of him. Once he reached his adult size, it would be like hiding a warhorse in Celie’s bedroom.
Rufus, having thoroughly searched the room and Bran for any more treats, now came to Celie and made pleading noises. He rubbed himself against her and then turned so that his back was to her, lowering one wing to make it easier for her to climb on.
“Oh, did you want to go flying, Rufus?” She feigned surprise.
He gave her an irritated look over his shoulder.
Celie laughed and eagerly climbed onto his back.
Once she was in place, Rufus scuttled over to the window that they had left open. Celie looked back at her brother and Pogue.
“You don’t have to wait here all night for me, you know,” she told them. “We’ll be fine!” She didn’t add that there was nothing they could do to help her if something did go wrong while she and Rufus were flying over the valley.
“Do you really think I could sleep while my little sister is up in the air on the back of a half-grown, half-trained griffin?” Bran made a face.
“I second that,” Pogue said, “even though you’re not my sister. Knowing you’re out there all the same …”
Bran gave a grim bark of laughter, but Celie was too busy holding Rufus in check. His front claws were gripping the scarred windowsill, and every line of his body was taut.
She stroked his neck.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
He leaped into the sky.
They flew. They soared. They wheeled and glided. It was like an elaborate dance through the air. The cold wind teased at them and they danced with it, turning and tasting it, letting it push them and then twirling away from its grasp. Celie was more alive on Rufus’s back than she was even in the Castle, making her maps. She and Rufus belonged together, and they belonged in the sky. She felt pity for Bran and Pogue who, it seemed, would never know this joy unless the Castle gave them griffins of their own.
They raced over the sheep meadow, then beyond to the village fields that lay still and frozen, the moon glinting off odd patches of leftover snow. Rufus flew almost to the trees at the far end of the valley before Celie tugged at the left handle of the harness, turning him. He was much more responsive to her commands now, and she had stopped threatening him with a bridle and reins. Not that there would be any way to rig a bridle for a griffin. His head was too round and sleek, and his beak could bite through sticks as thick as Celie’s wrist; she doubted that a bit would last long.
The Castle was tightly shuttered, and Celie figured that everyone had long since gone to bed. So she let Rufus play among the towers, swooping close around them and turning so that he stood almost sideways in the air. She suppressed a loud whoop of joy.
As they glided past the windows of the Spyglass Tower, which had no shutters, Celie thought she saw a faint glimmer of light. She turned toward it, and Rufus turned with her. She could see by the way his head was cocked that he’d seen the light as well. They made a circle of the shadowy tower. As they finished their circuit, one of the shadows moved.
Celie hauled back on the handles, causing Rufus to go lower, twisting away from the tower. She looked back as they fled, and saw someone leaning out of the tower with a hooded lamp in their hand, so that only the faintest slit of light showed.
She leaned along Rufus’s neck. “Back to your tower, boy, go back!”
Rufus beat his wings in a frantic rhythm, sensing her fear. They lunged through the window of Rufus’s tower, startling Bran and Pogue, who leaped to their feet, each of them tossing down a notebook.
“What is it?”
Bran ran forward and helped Celie get off Rufus’s back. Rufus’s wings were still half-extended, and he was clacking his beak and making shrill sounds. Pogue put his big hands on the griffin’s head and stroked him, whispering soothingly.
“Someone saw you, didn’t they?” Pogue’s face was pale under his tan.
“They were in the Spyglass Tower,” Celie said with a gasp.
“Maybe it was the moon reflecting off a spyglass,” Bran said, but he sounded doubtful.
Celie knew what she’d seen. “Arkwright,” she said in despair. “It was Arkwright.”
“Are you sure?”
“He had a lantern with a hood on it,” she said, slumping to the ground. Bran sat beside her, and Rufus flopped down with his head in her lap. “I saw a glimmer of light in the tower, so we flew around it, and I saw something move. Rufus dropped down, and when I looked back someone was leaning out with the lantern. He was tall, with a thin, pale face …”
“Arkwright,” Pogue said, his mouth a tight line. “What do we do?”
“We do nothing,” Bran said. “He’ll have to find this tower to find Rufus, and I don’t think the Castle will allow that. If he says anything, just play dumb. Rolf told Father about him threatening you today; Father and Mother are both very angry. If Father could toss Arkwright out of the Castle on his rear end, he would. But the College would never stand for it, so we all have to pretend we aren’t bothered.”
“Just like we did with Khelsh,” Pogue said. “It will drive him insane if we pretend that he’s beneath our notice, or that we know something he doesn’t.”
“All right,” Celie said, stroking Rufus’s feathers. They were still stiff and cold from the air outside. “But I think I like this even less than I liked toying with Khelsh.”
“That’s because Khelsh just plotted and shouted,” Pogue said. “Arkwright seems to be always on the verge of turning us all into flies and then swatting us.”
“Don’t worry,” Bran said with a faint smile. “That sort of magic is beyond even him.”
“How reassuring,” Celie said dryly.
Chapter
22
The next day was Tuesday. When Celie entered the winter dining hall for breakfast, she found the table covered in maps, and Bran was explaining to the family that all Pogue’s earlier predictions about the Castle had come true. The corridors and rooms he’d told them about had appeared, splitting the Castle into two distinct sections. But he hadn’t foreseen the large barracks that were now behind the griffin stable, which cut through the back wall surrounding the Castle. It was worse than the break caused by the new stables. The wall looked like it had been hit by a battering ram: stones and chunks of mortar were scattered all across the sheep meadow, and it was fortunate that the sheep had still been in their barn when it happened, or they surely would have been killed.
King Glower summoned the entire court to the throne room, the Glower family trailing after. Celie and Lilah were wearing two of their new gowns, made from fabric the castle had provided: matching blue velvet that hung in hea
vy, rich folds.
Lilah had altered one of the ancient patterns that had been found in the fabric room, and had a stiff, rectangular cape hanging down from her shoulders. It was made from satin that had a random pattern of triangles and a large circle embroidered on it. It almost made a picture, but the embroidery was subtle enough that you couldn’t quite make out what it was a picture of.
Celie liked that the thick fabric of her own gown made her feel safe and warm. She almost wished she had a cape as well, but didn’t want to be too weighed down. Something bad was happening to the Castle, she could feel it. She smoothed her skirt and listened to her father.
“Friends,” King Glower said, his voice deep with concern. “The Castle is in crisis. Once rooms and corridors changed with a sense of whimsy, or because it filled a need for those who live here. Now the changes have become drastic and even dangerous.” He sighed.
“I must warn you all to stay away from the outer wall,” the king continued. “Large portions of it have been weakened by the breaks made this morning, and we are concerned that other sections may collapse. We have stonemasons working to shore it up, but until they do, please stay clear of it. Likewise, the Armor Gallery is still off limits. The Royal Wizard and Wizard Arkwright have been able to uncover the purpose of most of the weapons therein, but those they have studied haved proved to be highly dangerous.
“In the meantime, the heads of the guard, housekeeping, and cooking staff and the Council have all been issued copies of Princess Cecelia’s atlas. It is as up-to-date as my daughter and the royal cartographer can make it. If you lose your way and do not have access to an atlas, just remember the two rules, which, fortunately, still hold true: keep going east and you’ll find the throne room, or turn left three times and climb out a window to find the kitchens.”
One of the councilors came forward, holding his hand up to ask a question.
“Yes, Lord Sefton?”
“Why is this happening?”
“We don’t know yet,” the king said, sighing heavily. “But we are doing our best to find out.”