LITMIR.BIZ

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       Chapter 5 The Book of Lies

      MARCEL’S BODY SHIVERED, HALF with exhaustion and half with fear. Beside him, Mrs Timmins looked ready to faint. “That beast would frighten the bravest knight. I don’t like having it live above us,” she declared, turning to the boy. “But listen to me, Marcel. Do as Lord Alwyn says. Stay within these walls and you’ll be safe. If you leave…” She hesitated, shocked by what she was about to say. “If you leave, you may well be killed.”

      “Yes, by Lord Alwyn,” he snapped, suddenly infuriated. “And you’re helping him.”

      “No!” she cried, hurt to the quick. “He won’t harm you, not while I draw breath.” Then she addressed both boys with all the sternness she could muster. “The pair of you need a good lesson. Fergus – Albert and Old Belch will be back with a new load of firewood shortly, and when it’s here you’ll spend the rest of the day with an axe in your hands. As for you, Marcel, you can get on to your hands and knees in the vegetable garden, and there’d better not be a single weed in sight by nightfall. But first you, Fergus, can go and find that stallion, and Marcel, you can put this poor mare back in her stall. Just look at the state she’s in!”

      Marcel led Gadfly back to the stables where he rubbed down her flanks with a cloth to wipe off the sweat, as he somehow knew he should do. At first his hands trembled after his encounter with Lord Alwyn’s beast, but there was something about Gadfly that helped him overcome his fear, and by the time he had finished grooming her his nerves had steadied. She had taken him so close to victory. He could still feel the wind in his face and the power of her galloping body beneath him. Even the mad leap across the stream, with their lives hanging in the balance, had become a triumph now that the real danger had passed. “For a moment I thought you could fly,” he told her.

      Even after the meal that evening the smaller children talked wide-eyed about the race. They gathered around the fireplace with the glow of the flames dancing on their cheeks.

      “Marcel’s horse flew like a bird,” said Watkin, describing the fantastic jump.

      But it was little Dot who turned their attention to the most frightening part of the story. “What about Lord Alwyn’s beast? Did you hear its name? Termagant,” she whispered, sending a fearful shiver through all who were listening.

      Marcel wasn’t part of the excited circle, but he had crept close to catch a little of the fire’s warmth. When he heard those awed whispers, his mouth went dry. He looked for Fergus, who had given him a wide berth since the race, and found him in a corner picking gingerly at his palms, which were blistered from woodchopping. Did those swaggering shoulders droop a little? Fergus was doing his best to hide it. Without realising, both boys stood up together, making everyone in the dining hall notice, when in fact each had hoped to slip away to bed unseen.

      Marcel fell into bed drained and desperate for sleep. It wouldn’t come at first. The race had been exhilarating and he was a victor of sorts, but in the things that mattered most he had fallen further behind. He fidgeted with the ring that Lord Alwyn had forced him to wear, a ring that tied him to the orphanage more powerfully than ever. When finally he drifted off, he slept fitfully, strange faces filling his dreams, though none showed themselves clearly. A voice began calling to him. “Marcel! Marcel!” He tried to ignore it but the voice continued, whispering so closely it seemed to echo inside his ear.

      Gradually he realised it wasn’t a dream at all. He woke with a start to find a hand on his shoulder, and though he couldn’t see anyone the voice was one he knew.

      “Bea!”

      “Shh,” she cautioned. She motioned to him to follow her.

      He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Hugh beside him, and went with her into the passageway. He could only guess what time it was, but the house was dark and surely Albert and Mrs Timmins would be fast asleep. The two of them crept soundlessly along the corridor, but on the stairs Marcel lost his footing and slipped heavily on to the step below.

      “Watch your feet!” Bea hissed.

      “How can I, when it’s pitch-black!” he protested, but he grasped the banister all the same. “Where are we going?” he whispered.

      “The kitchen,” Bea replied. They reached the bottom of the stairs and she pushed the kitchen door gently ajar. As soon as they entered, she lit the candle Mrs Timmins kept on the table and led him into the pantry, a snug little alcove separate from the room itself.

      “What’s going on?”

      “I have something for you,” she told him at last.

      “At this time of night!” He watched as she pushed aside some large earthenware jars. Even then he had to wait while she carefully drew back a folded tablecloth. But when finally he saw what lay revealed, he could barely breathe. “The Book of Lies!”

      He reached in and took it down from the shelf, carrying it carefully to the kitchen table, where he stroked the cracked and flaking red leather of its cover. “What was it doing there, in the pantry?”

      Bea sent him an exasperated glance. “I hid it there,” she said, in a tone that hinted he should have guessed that much for himself.

      Marcel didn’t notice. He was still trying to grasp the fact that the Book was right here in front of him. “But how did you get hold of it?”

      “I took it from the tower, of course.”

      “You can’t have! The door is sealed by magic.”

      “I told you, there’s another way up there.”

      Another way. What was she talking about? Then it came to him. “The hidden tunnel! You mean you…”

      “This morning, when you and Fergus were racing into the village, I sneaked away from my chores and saw Lord Alwyn watching you from the window.”

      “You guessed he would send Termagant down through that passage to get me, didn’t you?”

      Bea was excited now. She could barely manage to keep her voice down. “I hid myself near the bushes and saw where she came out. The opening, Marcel – I found it at last! Now I can go up there any time I like.”

      Marcel stared at her. “Any time you like! Are you mad?”

      “No, it’s all right. Tonight, I just had to wait until I heard that noise in the wall and then I knew Termagant had gone out hunting. It’s so narrow; no wonder Termagant makes such a noise when she squeezes through it. And even in daylight it’s impossible to see.”

      “But what about Lord Alwyn? I suppose he said, ‘Hello, come on in, Bea. Let me hold the candle for you.’”

      Bea made a face. “Even wizards sleep at night, you know – and besides, even if he had been awake, he wouldn’t have seen me,” she said confidently. She folded her arms to show she was growing tired of his lack of faith in her.

      Marcel made himself calm down. If he had sounded a little harsh, it was only because he was worried about her. Terrified, really. This was the second time she had taken a dreadful risk to help him. “I’m sorry I questioned you,” he said softly, and to show it he touched her gently on the arm. “You went up there just to get this book for me. I can’t believe it. Bea, that’s braver than anything I did today.”

      Bea blushed brightly, not easy for a girl who usually faded into the shadows. “Now we can work out whether your real life is written inside. Quickly, see what you can find,” she urged him. “Termagant won’t stay out all night, and I’ll have to return it before she comes back.”

      Marcel opened the cover and leaned forward, impatient to read the words inside. There were so many. Every page was covered from top to bottom and edge to edge with a solemn, flowing black script. The pages were yellowed and furred at the corners, some torn a little in places. Marcel read the first page, but by the second his eyes were

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