Текст книги "The Banshee's walk"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Evis tilted his head and spoke a soft word I didn’t know.

Hisvin repeated it. “Yes,” he said, beaming. “I did not know you were a student of pre-Kingdom history, Mr. Prestley. But you are correct. I speak of the alarkin. The Old Ones.”

“Never heard of them,” I whispered. “But I went to a public school. Are you telling me that’s what’s buried under the Ring, sir? One of these alarkins?”

Hisvin shook his head. “What was buried beneath the old stone ring was a mere bauble placed there by myself some eighty years ago. I also laid the stones, some years before that, and spread false rumors of their origins. The Ring was meant to discourage further excavations. Similar measures have, in the past, proven more than sufficient to either kill the excavators or convince them further efforts were simply too risky. But not this time, I fear. No. Today, the other parties show the rare and irrepressible determination of madmen and fools.”

“I saw an unusually tall person at the excavation yesterday. Might that be one of your foolish mad sorcerers?”

“One of them. I suspect there are at least three.”

I whistled. Even during the darkest days of the War, wand-wavers working together was well nigh unheard of. They historically seemed unable to remain on the same continent without quickly resorting to sorcerous blood feuds.

“Anyone else on your side?”

The Corpsemaster shrugged. “No. We stand alone.”

“Three to one. The odds aren’t exactly encouraging.”

“True. But I suspect the three, should they survive long enough to reach the tomb, will fall upon each other the instant it is uncovered. I have no such concerns, nor will I be forced to expend any effort to protect myself from partners who are destined to suddenly become deadly rivals. But I digress. I came here to discuss your role in this small confusion, Finder.”

“You mean aside from my role as your stalking horse.”

“I did not bring you here, Finder. Although I must admit I was most amused when I learned that the Lady had retained you.”

I shivered at the thought of being one of Hisvin’s amusements.

“How do you know I won’t run and tell the Lady that some prehistoric boogeyman and his treasure-trove is buried right under her roses?”

“Because you are not a fool. And because you have no more desire to see such a creature raised than do I. Consider it, Finder. Imagine a being infinitely more powerful than myself. Now imagine that it lacks my own considerable sense of restraint and decorum. Add its understandable annoyance at being buried for most of the Kingdom’s history.”

“I thought you said it was dead. In a tomb.”

“I did indeed mention a tomb. I did not employ the word dead. The alarkin was put down, and bound with ancient magics, and then sealed beneath the earth in what was then a lonely, unpeopled waste. But dead-perhaps so, perhaps not. Death for such a being might well prove to be temporary. And if not, its shade would be nearly as devastating as the being itself. No. We can be assured the alarkin is buried. But we cannot assume it is dead.”

Evis broke his silence. “Why would anyone seek to disturb such a thing?”

“Greed,” replied Hisvin. “The alarkin was doubtlessly entombed with certain artifacts. If one were to raise them, and learn their use-well. That is another point of the history I spoke of, because the Regency would certainly fall before the onslaught of such objects.”

I must have raised an eyebrow. Either that, or Hisvin can read minds.

“No, Finder, I myself have no desire to seek such artifacts. I will make no claim that I am somehow immune to greed, but neither am I insensitive to the cost of such an effort. No. I mean to keep these things buried, though it costs me my life.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Let us hope so indeed. Now. As to your roles. The banshee must be protected. I assume you do in fact have it safely inside?”

No point in denying what I suspected he had the means to know. “I do. But I have to tell you, she’s not very, um, banshee-like. More like a kid. She seems harmless. Might I ask why all the interest in her?”

Hisvin made Skin’s dead face frown. “If my studies are to be believed, she was a creation of the alarkin who lies nearby. I believe, as do my rivals, that the banshee holds the power to call the alarkin back. Probably by shrieking in close proximity to the tomb.”

“Buttercup could bring Old Bones back just by howling?” I rose. “Do you believe that?”

Skin lifted his grey hands. “Close proximity, Finder. Very close. There is no immediate danger. Unless, of course, these other sorcerers take her and put her in the tomb.”

“They’d do that?”

“I simply do not know. They might only be after the artifacts. Or they might have fallen to the alarkin’s shade already, and are working to effect its release. If that is true, they will come for the banshee, Finder. And that I cannot allow.”

Footsteps sounded, shuffling and faint, behind Skin. Footsteps, and a smell.

Evis didn’t stand, but his arms moved. I assume he was readying a weapon.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Hisvin with a dead man’s smile. “Meet another of my little family. I believe he was known as Weexil. He betrayed you to our common enemy, Finder. I thought it only fitting that you behold him, to see that justice has been done.”

Another dead man shambled down the cornrow. This one was already bloated, already drawing flies. I was glad Hisvin did not force it to speak.

In the thick stiff fingers of its black right hand, it held a dagger. I held my breath while Weexil’s corpse shuffled to my feet, dropped the dagger, and then turned and walked slowly away.

“You need not mourn him, Finder. Nor does his young lady. Did you know he planned to murder her and hide her body in these very woods, simply to avoid the dual blessings of fatherhood and matrimony?” The Corpsemaster shook his head in mock surprise. “I despair for the Regency’s future, given the youth of today.”

The dagger was small, as daggers go. The blade and the hilt were worked with symbols that danced and moved as I watched.

“And this is?”

“This is for you, Finder. The banshee is both long-lived and deceptively durable. But a single cut from this blade will prove fatal to it. It need not be a mortal wound. If blood is drawn at all, the banshee will perish.”

“With respect, sir. Perhaps it should be I who takes the weapon. I believe Mr. Markhat has developed a certain paternal affection for the banshee.”

Hisvin laughed through a dead man’s throat. The sound was not at all pleasant.

I took the dagger and stuck it down inside Toadsticker’s scabbard.

“I’ll hold on to this. No need to go cutting any throats just yet.”

“There is indeed a need, Finder. And if you were a practical man, you’d kill the creature immediately, and throw its body into the yard, and thus spare the lives of everyone you hold dear. Surely you can see the value of such a strategy.”

“If it were that simple you’d have killed her yourself.”

Hisvin shrugged. “There are reasons I myself cannot slay her. None of these reasons apply to you.”

I realized I was glaring. “I won’t kill any banshees tonight, Corpsemaster. If that’s the easy way, I’m afraid it’s not the path we’ll take.”

“As you wish. The choice is yours.”

“So. What’s next?”

“The dig at the Faery Ring has been abandoned. Even now, they are preparing to lay siege to the House, capture the banshee and use it to determine the actual location of the alarkin’s burial site. By dawn, House Werewilk will be surrounded by approximately five hundred mercenaries, a variety of heavy siege engines, and a much reduced but still considerable number of minor sorcerers in the employ of three persons of my own stature, or greater. I suspect your breakfast plans will be rudely interrupted.”

Evis spoke. “Do you know the actual location of the alarkin’s tomb, sir?”

“Naturally. I built Werewilk upon it. It seemed the best way to keep the site under careful scrutiny.”

I fought back a shiver. I’d been sleeping over the grave of a monster. Buttercup was even now dancing over its tomb.

“Does Buttercup-the banshee know that?”

“I have very little knowledge of the banshee’s abilities. But if it was drawn to the resting place of its master, it seems it would have been drawn here millennia ago, does it not?”

“Makes sense. From what I hear, she only showed up thirty years or so ago.”

Hisvin nodded. “Which coincides with the last attempt to disinter the alarkin. I suspect the banshee was brought to Rannit at that time by a sorcerer who, sadly, fell quite ill soon thereafter.”

“Bad case of a fatal head wound?”

“Indeed. The banshee escaped. I presume it has been living in the forest since then. My own attempts to capture it failed, time after time.”

Evis perked up. “Does it have access to magic of its own, perhaps?”

“It may. I simply cannot say. And I refuse to place myself in close proximity to the creature. If the alarkin is indeed alive, doing so would expose myself to it, and that has proven universally fatal to the persons who have risked it.”

“So. We hold the House. You slay the sorcerers. And when they’re puffs of smoke, we hope the army itself just shrugs and walks away, is that it?”

The dead man sighed. “You damn me with your lack of faith, Finder. While I cannot simply dismiss all our foes with a single wave of my hand, I am who I am. I shall not be vanquished easily, or quickly.”

“Glad to hear it.” There came a sound from the House-Buttercup, winding up for a good long shriek. “Sir, unless there’s anything else, we’d better get back.”

“Sounds like your banshee girlfriend is getting anxious,” said Evis. His grin, even in the dark, was toothy and wide.

Hisvin rose. We did too.

“I doubt we shall speak again until this is done,” he said. “I wish you both luck.”

Evis and I chorused the same to the Corpsemaster, and he turned and walked away.

I wiped sweat from my forehead.

“Bet you wish you’d stayed home.”

“What, and miss all the fun? Victor. Sara. You can join us now.”

Two halfdead, clad in loose black, glided out of the cornstalks on either side of us.

“You heard nothing of that,” said Evis. “Not a single word.”

Two single nods, and not a whisper of sound.

“What’s out there?”

“Five hundred men. Three catapults.”

“Sorcerers.” That from Sara. “We counted six.”

Evis pondered that. “What of escape? Is there any way to move through their lines?”

“None. The estate is encircled. The circle is closing. By dawn, they will be at the House.”

“All right. Return to Rannit. Inform the Elders. Make no mention of Hisvin.”

Silence. Evis frowned.

“Did you hear me?”

“We heard,” said Victor. “But our orders are to remain at your side.”

“Your orders are to return to Avalante this instant.”

Victor shook his head. “Only if you accompany us.”

Evis growled something at Victor in a language I don’t know. Victor replied calmly in the same tongue. The other halfdead, Sara, repeated Victor’s brief reply.

Buttercup wailed again, louder and longer, this time.

“We’re going to have to continue this fascinating debate of House dynamics inside, people,” I said. “Bad things are going to happen if Buttercup slips loose and winds up in the yard.”

Evis snarled and whirled, making for the secret door in a very unvampirish huff. I motioned for Victor and Sara to follow, and they fell behind Evis in silence.

I brought up the rear. A wind rustled the cornstalks. I thought of the two dead men still nearby, and I hurried back to Darla, Toadsticker’s hilt in my hand.

Chapter Seventeen

Mama eyed the dagger Hisvin had given me with a potent Hog scowl.

“I ain’t never seen the likes of that, boy.”

“Me neither,” added Gertriss. “It…it looks back.”

I took the thing and wrapped it in a dishrag and put it in my jacket pocket.

Buttercup smiled up at me. She’d shown no interest in or fear of the dagger. If she understood what had been said about it, she also showed no interest or fear in that.

We were seated in the kitchen. The oven had been moved back, which cut off the damp smell from the tunnels. Biscuits were cooking inside it, which made the scene almost homey, except for the knowledge that a siege and assault by sorcerers was due with the sunrise.

Gertriss had managed to trim Buttercup’s fingernails. The banshee even wore a ring now. It was fashioned from a twist of yarn and the jewel was a gumdrop, but Buttercup showed it to me with the gravity of an heiress. Shoes were still a problem, Gertriss reported. Oh, the banshee would parade around in them for a few minutes, giggling and clapping, but she quickly lost interest and stepped out of them as soon as she spotted something shiny.

Lady Werewilk had met us underground. I stalled until we were assembled in the kitchen while I decided what to tell and what to hide and what the Hell we were going to do to prepare for a war that had the likes of Encorla Hisvin questioning his own mortality.

In the end, I’d spilled most of it. I hadn’t used Encorla’s name, didn’t mention that he’d laid the Faery Ring or had a long-time hand in Werewilk’s history. I didn’t mention alarkins or artifacts, although the Lady guessed right away that something old and sorcerous was involved.

And I’d told her about Buttercup. And the dagger.

I hadn’t wanted to tell that. But the Lady was my client. I don’t lie to my clients. Especially when Evis would have revealed all of it anyway, in my presence or outside it.

“So the banshee may be the key to all this?”

The Lady is good at keeping her face blank. I resolved never to play cards with her.

“She may be. I’m not convinced of that. Others are.”

“And that dagger has the power to kill her.”

I just nodded.

The Lady took a sip of coffee. “I will have no murder in this house,” she said. “Certainly not of my guests. Most especially not of poor wild creatures who have seldom known kindness. You need not fear for her, Finder. Like you, I refuse to spill innocent blood in the interest of expediency.”

I felt a knot loosen in my gut.

“I’m very glad to hear it, Lady. But in the interest of safety, I’ll volunteer to take the banshee out of your House myself. I think we could slip away, if we leave now.”

“You would die. It is too late for flight.”

Victor had spoken. His voice was dry and flat. Sara, seated beside him, nodded beneath her black hood.

“You managed to sneak past them.”

“I am a vampire. Even so, we moved ahead of them, not through them. You would die. There is no doubt.”

Darla squeezed my hand, which was already numb from being held and squeezed and clung to.

“Fine. No early morning hikes in the dew, then. I guess we get ready to fight.”

“They are many. They have siege engines. And sorcery.”

“We have some small sorcery of our own.” Lady Werewilk grinned. Marlo made frantic shushing noises.

“The time for secrecy has long since passed. I cannot simply stand by and watch my House be assaulted without employing every means of defense available.”

“You know the law,” began Marlo.

“The law is subject to interpretation,” said Evis, smoothly. “In fact, if Lady Werewilk were to engage in some minor acts of the arcane while in the employ of Avalante, I believe the likelihood of any legal action in the matter is quite low.”

“Practically nonexistent,” I added. “Hell. She might even rate a medal.”

“Indeed.” Evis allowed himself a tight-lipped smile, aware that his audience was human. “You may proceed without fear of prosecution, Lady. I speak for Avalante.”

The Lady rose.

“Oh, Lady Werewilk. One more thing. I quit.”

She laughed. “Now, Finder?”

“You hired me to find out who was surveying your land. I’ve told you as much as I can about them. No need for you to keep me on the payroll.”

“Fair enough. Marlo. Pay the man. I do hope you’ll accept my invitation to remain here, as my guest, until this is over.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Lady.”

She pushed back her chair and sailed from the room, Marlo close on her heels.

Evis sniffed the air. “I believe the biscuits are about to burn.”

“What would you know ’bout biscuits,” muttered Mama Hog.

“Enough not to burn them.”

“Oh hush, both of you.” Darla let go of my hand and rushed to the stove. I opened and closed my fingers a few times to make sure they still worked.

“Throw a couple of those on a plate, will you, Darla, my dear? Then bring them upstairs. I get terribly grumpy if I have to go to war without a nap first.”

“You’re gonna sleep, boy? Now?”

‘For an hour or so, Mama. Unless you can think of something better to do.”

“We can be a sharpenin’ blades and piling furniture against the doors.”

“We could start boiling water to pour down the trap doors, in case they find the tunnels,” added Evis.

Mama cackled. “Good idea, boy. I likes that one.”

Evis smiled. “Then you’ll love what I have in mind to put in jars that can be tossed from upstairs to the lawn,” he said.

“Lamp oil?”

Evis nodded. “With soap mixed in, to make it stick.”

Mama slapped him on the back. “I likes the way you think, boy.”

I hustled Darla out of there, before they started hugging.

Later, Darla and I watched the sunrise.

As sunrises go, it lacked spectacle. The window was so thick we could barely see through it in the first place. And then there were the trees, which drank up the sun as it climbed.

But some light crept through nonetheless. First came the dawn, red and slow, and it gave way to day. There was no warmth in it. No bird song, either. Just a pale grey light that seemed reluctant and shone cold.

Darla was at my side, leaning against me. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were red, but she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

I told her so. She smiled and called me a liar.

And then the first siege engine broke from the trees, and men came shouting with it.

Horses galloped into the Lady’s charred and unkempt lawn. There were more shouts. I could make out movement, but not detail. There came crashings and the neighing of horses, and then the chop-chop-chopping of axes biting into trees.

Darla regarded it with a sleepy sort of detached curiosity.

“They’re clearing the trees so the catapults can fire.”

“You know the very words to melt a girl’s heart.”

“That’s me, all right. Charming to the last.”

“Is this the last, Markhat?”

I forced a smile. “Not a chance, Missy. All they’ve got are catapults. The Corpsemaster has worse than that in his pajama pockets, and you know it.”

“Maybe. But if it is, I love you, Markhat.”

Masonry shattered, down below. The horsemen were using ropes to topple the ward statues.

“This is the part where you tell me you love me too,” said Darla.

“You know I do.”

“I don’t know anything unless you tell me.”

“I bought you velvet gloves for Yule. If that isn’t love, I don‘t know what is.”

She turned to face me.

“I am not going to die without hearing the words, Markhat. Give me that.”

Hammers joined the axes as the catapult began to take shape. Footfalls sounded beyond my door, rushing from the stairs and down the hall towards us.

“I love you, Darla Tomas. Happy now? There is an invading army forming up on the lawn, you know. They have a catapult. Did I mention they have a catapult?”

She smiled. “So we’ve established that I love you, and you love me. Agreed?”

“No arguments here.” Knocks fell on my door. Mama bellowed my name.

Darla didn’t let go when I made to turn away.

“When men type people and women type people fall in love, they often start setting certain dates.”

Mama, bless her heart, gave the door a shove and barged on in, bellowing and stomping.

“Boy! Wake up, damned if they ain’t about to start flingin’ rocks-”

Darla skipped away from me, a hint of triumph on her face. Mama blushed and shut up.

“It’s all right, Mama. We were just about to get dressed.”

Mama gobbled something apologetic and backed away. I grabbed a shirt and hastily donned it, while Darla glided to the fancy bathroom and closed the door.

“You said something about rocks and the flinging thereof.”

“They’s pushin’ machines out of the woods. Three so far. Men an’ horses everywhere.”

I sat and pulled on boots.

“We knew this was coming, Mama. And you know who’s on our side.”

Mama snorted. “The one we ain’t naming ain’t on nobody’s side but his own.”

I found Toadsticker hiding under the couch and yanked him free. The Corpsemaster’s dainty dagger went in my right boot, where I planned for it to stay.

“What’s going on downstairs?”

“Them painters is paintin’. The rest of the lot is runnin’ around with swords they don’t know how to swing. The Lady has took to her wand-wavin’ room. Her man is stompin’ around givin’ orders and getting’ mad when nobody pays him no mind.”

I had a good idea who was foremost in paying Marlo no mind.

“Evis and crew?”

Mama cackled. “Boy, I got to say, that Evis is a likeable feller, if you can get past that face. He’s made up a batch of sticky lamp oil and if he’s as good at throwin’ as he thinks he is we might just set them cat-a-pults on fire before they get them built.”

“Victor and Sara?”

“Who?

“The other two halfdead.”

“Ain’t seen hide nor hair of them. Reckon they’re about, though, getting’ ready to spread some vampire nasty when the doors go down.”

Darla emerged from my bathroom. Her hair was combed, her clothes were fresh and the red was gone from her eyes.

“We’re engaged,” she said, without preamble.

Mama barked a laugh and slapped her knee. “And high time, I reckon.”

“Don’t look so terrified, darling. It happens all the time.”

“I don’t look terrified.”

“Last time I seen bug eyes like that, boy, they was in a toad a coach run over.” Mama grinned and bowed. When she straightened up, there was a dried owl in her hand. “Upon this joining, I confer my blessing.”

Something exploded out on the lawn. Tiny bits of sod pecked at the window.

“Downstairs, ladies. War starts early, in these parts.”

Darla took my arm. “Let’s get it done quickly, shall we, dear? We have rings to pick out.”

I’ve never hurried toward the sound of battle with such eagerness.

Downstairs was pandemonium.

Gardeners and stable boys and carpenters and cooks were charging from window to window and door to door, shouting and knocking holes in the plaster with their makeshift armor and tripping over each other everywhere the hall got narrow. Half a dozen dogs trotted happily behind them, not sure what game it was they were playing but determined to enjoy it anyway.

Marlo brought up the rear, bellowing and cursing and red-faced. He carried no weapon, but his hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, and I figured he was one shout away from grabbing the nearest of the staff and beating them until they listened.

I parked Darla at the foot of the stairs and charged into the fray, grabbing Marlo by his elbow.

“Let me show you an old trick my sergeant showed me.”

The mob reversed and was upon me, responding to a shout that troops were at the door. They weren’t, but I planted myself in the way, smiled a big wide smile, and laid out the first two males who got within arm’s reach of me.

That halted the charge. And like the Sarge used to say, a bloody nose never killed anyone.

“Shut up. All of you. Shut up and be still and listen, or you’ll get the same, and worse.”

One of the men I’d disciplined muttered something uncomplimentary. Marlo responded with a boot to his gut.

“You can’t see a damned thing out of any of these windows. And since they don’t open, they might as well not be there. So I want you, you, and you-” I pointed three worthies out at random, “-to find some tools and go to the top floor and take out a window on each wall. Got that? Just smash the damned things until they break. We can’t defend the House blind like this.”

“But the Lady-”

“I speak for the Lady,” snarled Marlo. “And this man speaks for me. He wasn’t asking, either. Get hammers, get upstairs, get moving.”

The trio conferred briefly about workrooms and hammers and then off they went.

Marlo’s face was the color of fresh cut beef.

“What else?”

“The rest of you barricade the doors. Start with the main doors, but don’t forget the side doors. Mr. Marlo, is there any furniture you want spared?”

“Hell no. Break it all to splinters if you have to. Just keep the doors from coming down.”

“You heard the man.”

A surly-eyed gardener in the rear of the pack perked up.

“What if they set the place afire? What do we do about that?”

“Slate doesn’t burn, Burns, and if you keep up with that sort of talk I’ll haul your whining ass up to the roof and throw you down myself.”

The man blanched. Marlo glared.

The floor shook as a mighty ironwood tree went down. The uppermost branches of it struck the House as it fell. There was a splintering and a rending, but the walls took the blow easily.

“The doors,” I said. “Heavy big stuff first. Nail it in place if you can. Smaller junk behind it. Go.”

They scattered, leaving Marlo and I alone.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it. Easier for me to do. They don’t know me, and I don’t have to live with them later.”

“If there is a later.”

“Been through worse. Still here to complain about it.”

Marlo snorted. Another tree fell out on the lawn. They’d soon have a clear field of fire, from anywhere they chose.

“The Lady?”

“Down in her room. Brewing up something, don’t know what, ain’t gonna ask.”

“Let’s hope it’s good. Seen Evis?”

“In the gallery. Dark in there.”

Buttercup came flying down the stairs. I say flying. It might have been a leap, might have been some unusual display of agility that only a creature as small as the banshee could execute. I never saw her do it again. But it looked as if she simply picked up her feet and came gliding down that stair.

Flying or not, Darla managed to grab her before she could pass. The tiny creature struggled for a moment, then buried her face in Darla’s hair and begin to whimper.

Darla looked at me and was about to say something, but then her eyes went wide and she whirled and put her back to me and tried to run.

She slipped on a spot of beer, went down on one knee.

I had Toadsticker out and level with my waist before I got turned around. Marlo was hurled into the far wall with a thud and a curse. Something black and shapeless, like a shadow given substance, fluttered by me, making a sound somewhere between wings flapping and the pages of a book being fanned. I made a slice at it with Toadsticker, met some resistance, heard a high keening screech before I felt the blade yank free.

I followed with a leap, shoved Toadsticker in the biggest part of the boiling black mass. It shrieked again. Darla screamed and rolled, and the wad of shadows and I fell and rolled and struggled.

It was cold. I never saw a face or a claw or a body of any kind. Something pushed at me and tore at my clothes, though, and it tried desperately to wrench Toadsticker free. I got on top of it. I managed to get my knees around it and then Mama appeared with a bucket full of fire. She dumped it on the shadow thing with a scream and a kick.

Whatever it was, it would have made damned fine kindling. It shrieked and spasmed and then it burst into flames that quickly engulfed it.

If Marlo hadn’t yanked me to my feet, I’d have been burned myself.

I kept it pinned as long as I could, only withdrawing Toadsticker when the thing stopped struggling.

It didn’t burn long, after that. And it left nothing but a handful of ash behind.

“What the Hell was that?”

I sat on my ass and puffed. Darla and Buttercup joined me.

“It was after the banshee,” said Mama, stirring the remains with a boot. She spat in the ashes. “Bet it meant to pick her up and fly her out, owl-like.”

“The chimneys,” I puffed more air. “Light a fire. In all of them. Must have come down a chimney.”

Marlo barked orders. He had the presence of mind to order torches brought to us all. This time, his orders were heeded.

“Thanks, Mama. How’d you know it would burn?”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “It was that or a chamber-pot. Ain’t you glad I chose like I did?”

Evis came gliding up. He regarded the ashes and frowned.

“Sorcery.”

“Looks like.” I stood. “Make a circle. Darla, you and Buttercup in the middle. Might be more of those about, until we get some fires burning.”

We arranged ourselves. I felt Buttercup’s tiny hand on my back as she grabbed a handful of shirt and held on.

Upstairs came the sound of windows breaking. I cringed. “Better get a torch behind all those too,” I said. “If they can fly high enough to come down chimneys they can fly through windows.”

Marlo repeated what I’d just said. There were nods and then running feet.

Buttercup still whimpered. I wondered what she could see that we couldn’t, whether she knew what was being arrayed against us outside. If Hisvin had been telling the truth, Buttercup was a creation of something so ancient it predated all of Kingdom history-what, I wondered, would be sufficient to frighten a creature which had seen all the horrors it must surely have witnessed?

Mama broke the silence by beginning to sing.

It was a lullaby. I knew the tune, but not the words. My own mother had hummed it, over and over, as she mended the whole neighborhood’s shirts with the same century-old needle and threads she salvaged from the trash-heap of a grave clothes maker.

I guessed the song itself was as old as the language.

“Don’t you fret child

Don’t you cry,

Mama’s gonna make the black-birds fly.

And when those black-birds fly away,

Mama’s gonna make you a bed to lay…”

Buttercup stopped whimpering. Mama kept humming, probably because she either didn’t know any more of the song or she hadn’t come up with a rhyme yet.

We heard shouts, hammers beginning to fall inside, the scraping and shoving of heavy chests and tables and cases. Glass shattered, up above.

And then behind me, a tiny voice that was not Darla began to sing as Mama hummed.

The words weren’t clear. After an instant I realized they weren’t even Kingdom. But the voice, tiny and high as a bird’s-

“Darla? Is it?”

“She’s singing, Markhat. It’s her.”

Buttercup sang, her words still strange, but obviously sang in accompaniment to Mama’s hummed tune.

“Buttercup? Do you understand me?”

No response, except more song.

“She was raised, I knew it,” said Darla. “You didn’t always live in the trees, did you, honey?”

Buttercup stopped singing, but if she meant to reply she didn’t get the chance. Shouts sounded above, and blows, and then a second ball of black came soaring down the stairs, headed right for Buttercup.