Cyrion Page 10

  It would not do to upset Greta.

  Click

  “Jon, what if there’s a curfew?” Saul said.

  Jon scanned the deserted street and surrounding houses. “I don’t know. We just have to be careful and not get caught.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Saul asked.

  “We break G’hanjl out.”

  “And after that?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Jon heard Saul’s sharp intake of breath. “But I’ll think of something soon.”

  “Jon, hold out your hands,” Anya said.

  Puzzled, Jon held out his hand.

  “When I said ‘hands’, I meant both of them.”

  A blush crept up his neck, and Jon was grateful it was too dark for anyone to notice. He held out both his hands. A warm, furry thing scrabbled in his left palm and Anya’s small hand rested in his right.

  “When I’m done, put us in your shirt pocket. Remember not to squeeze us.”

  Jon’s ears popped, like there was as sudden change in atmospheric pressure when something relatively large suddenly became something relatively small. Anya’s pack thumped down on the cobbled city streets. Jon stepped into the moonlight and peered at the mice on the palms of his hands in speechless amazement.

  The two mice were identical, from their short, brownish-black fur, to their black-tipped tails. They even sat up on their hind legs and cocked their heads at him at the exact same time, the exact same way. The only difference was that one of the mice had a pair of blank, silvery discs for eyes. One of them was clearly blind.

  Just like Anya.

  The blind mouse gently nipped the ball of his thumb and squeaked in what Jon could swear sounded like impatience.

  “All right, all right,” he said. He placed the mice in his front shirt pocket. He felt both their heads poking out at the same time. “Stop wiggling. You’re tickling me.”

  “Jon, come on.” Saul peered around in puzzlement. “Hey, where’s--?”

  Jon gestured wordlessly at the mice poking out from the top of his shirt pocket. Saul’s eyes widened as his jaw fell open.

  “Wait, how…?” Saul finally managed.

  Jon shook his head and shrugged. One of the mice squeaked again. Louder, this time.

  Saul peered at Jon’s pocket, forefinger extended. “Okay, I understand. No time now. But you’ll explain this later. Right?” He turned away, nodding to himself. “Right. For now, we should go. Keep up, Jon.” He dashed off into the gloomy streets.

  Jon sighed, picked up Anya’s pack, and jogged to catch up. Everyone’s rushing me tonight.

  They glided through the silent cobbled city streets like shadows on still water, easily evading the few torch-bearing guards patrolling the streets. Linwood City guards seldom expect trouble because few criminals were stupid or foolhardy enough to target a known Watcher city.

  The boys hid in the shadows of the dogwood trees outside the guardhouse across from a row of outhouses. They watched in silence as a gong farmer, pushing his creaking wheelbarrow of vats, stopped beside the outhouses. Jon gagged from the odor of humanity that poured out when the gong farmer, whistling, uncovered one of his vats. Still whistling, he went on to empty the contents of each outhouse into the open vat, highlighting the new note to an already fragrant city night. Jon concentrated on taking short, shallow breaths through his mouth until the farmer replaced the lid of his vat.

  “All done, sirs! Heard you’ve been ill. Got ‘em stalls nice and clean for you.” He trundled off with his creaking wheelbarrow, still whistling, to the next collection point.

  Jon decided the air was safe enough to breathe normally when the last echoing notes of the gong farmer’s whistling died in the deserted streets.

  Just as Saul was about to make a dash for the jailhouse door, Jon gripped his shoulder. “Wait.”

  A few moments later, Jaelyn came hurtling out of the guardhouse into an open outhouse. He was followed by another guard who rushed, retching, into the other outhouse.

  “Wot was that you fed me, you rotter?” the other guard shouted through the closed outhouse door between bouts of retching.

  “You took ‘em yourself, Eddie! Them was my cook—” Jaelyn interrupted himself with a loud, liquid gurk.

  Thank you, Grammy Greta.

  “Now,” Jon said.

  They dashed across to the outhouses and slid the steel bolts shut, locking the guards inside.

  “Oi! Who’s that outside, then—” Jaelyn started to say, before he was cut off by another liquid gurk.

  Jon glanced at Saul and recognized his own sense of mischief reflected in the smile on his friend’s face.

  They entered the deserted guardhouse and ran pell-mell to the annex where G’hanjl was locked.

  “We don’t have much time,” Jon said. “We need to leave before the others on patrol return.” He shoved Anya’s pack to Saul. “Here, you hold this.” He fumbled in his pockets for the Squirrel Slayer.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot to bring it,” Saul said, his eyes wide.

  Anya poked her head out of John’s shirt pocket. Both mice scampered down his shirt and leggings before landing on the floor. Jon was still searching his pockets when he felt a now-familiar pop in his ear.

  “You put it in its sheath, in your pack.” Anya turned to Saul. “I can carry my own pack, thank you.” She shouldered her pack while the mouse climbed up her torso. “You know, you smell really nice for a boy, Jon. Like lilacs and roses.”

  That bath. It seemed so long ago.

  Jon slid off his backpack, dropped it on the ground, knelt on one knee, and blindly groped inside. Failing to find the Slayer, he bent to take a closer look inside his pack. His grandfather’s pendant swung out of his shirt collar. Jon heaved a sigh a relief when he found the knife. He pulled it out of his pack with one hand and tucked his pendant back into his shirt with the other. He then stood up and lightly touched the tip of the Slayer to the lock on the cell door.

  Click.

  The cell door swung open. Jon expected to see a jubilant G’hanjl. Instead, the goblin stood rooted in spot, his mouth agape, staring at Jon’s chest.

  “G’hanjl? Are you all right?” Anya asked.

  “Oh no,” Saul said. “Maybe he hit himself too hard on the head. We told you to stop hurting yourself. Did you listen?”

  “Is to be the stone. You is to be having the key. Now we is to be using secret way.”

  Jon frowned, his hand reached for his shirt, for the telltale lump under the fabric. “Stone? You mean Grampa’s pendant? This is the key?”

  G’hanjl nodded. But they had more urgent priorities.

  Jon glanced at the darkened hallway, which led to the main guardhouse. “Okay, okay, G’hanjl. But first, we get out.”

  “Where? How?” Saul asked.

  “Anya, can you shift to look like Jaelyn?”

  “I suppose so,” Anya said, a distinct expression of distaste on her face.

  “What’s the plan?” Saul said.

  Jon turned to his friend. “We sneak back to the house, and meet by the low wall in the backyard.” Jon felt the familiar pop in his ears. He turned around and studied the ‘Jaelyn’ standing where Anya was. Only this ‘Jaelyn’ had blank, silvery discs for eyes. The dun little mouse scampered up and sat on his shoulder.

  “This guy smells funny,” ‘Jaelyn’ said in Anya’s high piping voice.

  “You pretend to be Jaelyn,” Jon said, “and take G’hanjl to Grampa’s backyard, by the pigeon berry bush. And don’t say anything, ‘cause you still sound like you. Also, keep your head down, so no one can see your eyes.”

  “Just because I look like Jaelyn, doesn’t mean I’m stupid like him,” ‘Jaelyn’ said in Anya’s treble. “I’m well aware of what to do.”

  The boys slipped out first and vanished into the night. Soon after, “Jaelyn”, with a mouse perched on his shoulder, and G’hanjl left the guardhouse. They all made it back to the low wall in Naeem’s backyard without incident.

>   “Now what?” Saul asked.

  “Now G’hanjl is to be leadings fat Watchers and MataPerak to secret way.”

  Anya glanced up at the moonlit sky. “We’d better go before day breaks.”

  Jon turned back for one last glimpse at the darkened house as the others jumped the low wall. Thank you, Grampa. I’ll keep them all safe. I promise.

  “Jon, we have to go,” Anya said.

  “I’m coming,” Jon said.

  He leapt over the wall. They all melted into the shadows of the surrounding forest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WATCHERS WATCHING

  “They did what?” Arti said.

  The parchment fell from her nail-bitten hands and fluttered to the polished oak floor of the study.

  Karin bent and picked up the ink-splattered note. Her long, slender fingers shook as she studied her son’s words. She crushed the parchment to her chest, blank panic in her eyes. Geoff, his face grim, put a steadying hand at the small of her back, and then rested his mouth on her bright blonde hair. His dark eyes glittered with fury.

  Arti whirled from the table. “You! You knew about this!” She jabbed her finger at Naeem’s chest. Knowing his diminutive wife’s temper, Logan scanned the sun-drenched study for sharp objects, from the shelf-lined walls, to the pair of comfortable leather armchairs and the small ornate— There! He snatched the letter opener from the small, spindly-legged side table standing between the armchairs, and hid the blade in his pocket.

  “Your own grandson! Dad, how could you?” Arti’s eyes darted around the room wildly, as if searching for something to throw.

  That was close.

  “Arti, calm down.” Logan pushed the letter opener deeper in his pocket. “First, let’s hear what he has to say.”

  “I don’t care what he has to say,” Geoff said in an ominous rumble. “Give her the knife, Logan. Or I’ll give her one myself.”

  “Geoff, the regulations state—” Logan said.

  “Hang the regulations!” said Geoff, his eyes ablaze. “Wasn’t that what you said? They’re our sons. He’s got no right—”

  “Goblins.” Karin said, a note of desperate hope in her voice. “Don’t they live in the far North? If we leave now, perhaps we can catch—”

  “No, Karin. We can’t.” Naeem looked at all four of them in turn. “It’s all our fault, you know.”

  Arti whirled to face her father, her dark eyes narrowing. “You’d better explain yourself, old man, or else—”

  “Or else what, Arti?” Naeem snapped. “I thought you were smarter than this. I know I’ve taught you better than this. Use your brain.”

  Arti winced and then fell silent, biting her lower lip. Logan felt a surge of fury. No one speaks to my wife like that.

  “It’s my fault. I should’ve fought harder to have that…genocide order rescinded when I had the chance.” Naeem bowed his head. “But I didn’t think any cyrions survived.”

  Logan snorted. “So you tried to make up for it by sending our sons to the goblin homeland?” He paced the room, shaking his head. “I am trying to understand you, old man. God knows I am trying. But if you don’t start making sense soon, I will hand Arti this knife.”

  Naeem raised his head and stared into space. “You raised your sons to be good men. To be the kind of people who fight all tyrants, from classroom bullies to emperors. Which is the heart of being a Watcher.” Lips pursed, he walked to the study window and rested his hand on the ornate wooden bureau standing next to it. “Try to see things from their perspective. Anya is their friend. In their eyes, a helpless girl—”

  “But she’s a cyrion—” Geoff said.

  “Not to them!” Naeem roared. “To them, she is their friend. And you, the powerful Watchers, are after her life. How have you taught them to respond?” Naeem gritted his teeth, and then heaved a sigh. “And so unnecessary. She’s already imprinted on them. She’d be loyal to them unto death.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Karin asked, a faint note of hope in her voice.

  Naeem gave her an icy glare. “I am sure because I read.”

  Karin flinched.

  He raised a questioning eyebrow. “When you see her, do you see a human child?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s how you know. If she hadn’t imprinted on them, she wouldn’t seem the least bit human.”

  Naeem turned away from the others, opened the bureau, and took out a small box covered in glossy black velvet. “Face it. You’ve handled this very poorly. All of you have.” Naeem’s voice grew soft and controlled. More damning. He shook his head and took a deep breath.

  “They’re precocious, and you’ve taught them to be resourceful. I gathered as much from the few letters sent to me,” Naeem said, a bitter smile on his lips.

  There was a knock on the study door. Greta entered, bearing a large silver basin filled with water.

  “I’d like to stay, if I may,” she said. Her usually gruff voice was strangely subdued. Naeem nodded his assent.

  “Greta, you knew?” Hurt and betrayal threaded Arti’s soft voice.

  “You gave ‘em no choice, me girl. They’d do somefin’ rash regardless. This way, we can spot if they needs us, and jumps in when they do.” She set the basin in the middle of the circular table in the middle of the study.

  “Wait,” Karin said. “You said we can’t catch them. Why? What have you done?” Her shaking fingers pointed to the polished silver basin. “And what is that for?”

  “I gave them the safest option I could.” Naeem took a platinum ring out of the black velvet box. The ring was set with an opaque moss green stone, flecked with bright crimson streaks.

  “That’s Mum’s ring.” Arti’s glared at Naeem, her eyes narrowed with accusation. “You gave them your bloodstone.”

  “So they could use the portal, yes. I didn’t want to risk them running into bandits or, God forbid, other bands of goblins. I thought it best if they go where they wouldn’t be expected.”

  Naeem dropped the ring into the silver basin. The metal clinked when it hit bottom.

  “Then we can go get them,” Karin said. “Right now. Using the bloodstone.”

  “No.” Naeem studied at each of them in turn. “Let’s see if any of you can work out why.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Because our attempt to help would nullify this attempt. And they’ll only try again,” Logan said.

  Geoff covered his eyes with his hand. “Yes, and the next time—”

  “They’ll be sure not to take the bloodstone,” Arti said, looking directly at her father. “Because they’ll realize we can stop them.”

  “Good,” Naeem said with a wry smile. “Your brains are working again.” He leaned on the table, in front of the polished silver basin. “Just to be clear, we do not interfere. Not unless it’s that or they die. Are we agreed?” He looked directly into each of their eyes until they all gave reluctant nods.

  “Greta, if you please?” Naeem said.

  Greta produced a gleaming obsidian dagger and gave the blade to Naeem. Twinned serpents entwined around each other, their eyes set with flawless rubies, decorated its handle.

  “Let’s use the scrying pool to see what we can see, shall we?” Naeem pricked his thumb, and squeezed a single drop of blood into the water in the silver basin. The drop of scarlet briefly formed twisting ribbons of red before diffusing, disappearing into the clear water.

  “Blood to blood, I call you,” Naeem said. “Blood from blood, I see you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SECRET WAY

  Jon felt a surge of warmth from his grandfather’s pendant. He lifted the bloodstone from of the collar of his tunic and took a closer look at it in the morning light. Why had Grampa chosen such an ugly gem for a pendant? Instead of sparkling, the stone seemed to suck light. Perhaps he was imagining things, but the crimson flecks in the stone looked brighter this morning than they did last night. He shrugged. Probably just the light.

/>   “Come on, Jon,” Saul said. “Stop lollygagging.”

  Jon smiled. Saul always hurried him along, possibly from the moment he was able talk. “I’m coming.” He jogged along the forest trail, his pack bouncing on his back with each step.

  “So,” Jon said, a sardonic smile lurking on his lips. “How much trouble do you think we’re in now?”

  “Well, depends. If we succeed, I think we’d be grounded for…oh, I don’t know…the rest of our lives?”

  “And if we don’t?”

  Saul turned and grinned at him. “Then I think it’s a moot point.”

  “I could use the bloodstone.” Jon fingered the smooth, warm stone pendant.

  “Do you truly think we should?” Saul asked, his eyebrows arching.

  Jon looked at Anya and G’hanjl who were walking in front of them. They had been talking the entire night.

  “No,” Jon said. “I don’t think so. Not if we can help it. I think they deserve better. Don’t you?”

  “I think so too.” Saul had a grim look on his face. “Those rules need changing.”

  Jon turned his head and kept his attention fixed on the trail before them. “What about the grumps, though?”

  “Jon, Saul,” Anya said. “Come quick. We’re here.”

  Jon looked up and saw the two of them standing before a hole in the ground.

  “Watch your step,” Anya said. “G’hanjl said this place is riddled with holes. Holes that open into caves.”

  Jon walked towards the two of them, placing one foot before the other with special care. It was not a natural opening. The hole was a perfect circle, with smooth, regular, seamless edges. They dropped their packs and peered closer into the darkness within.

  Saul picked up a pebble from the leaf-strewn forest floor. He dropped it into the hole, counting aloud. Three seconds passed before the pebble hit bottom.

  “This,” Saul said, “does not seem like the portal we went through to get to Linwood.”