The Angel's Command

Book Two

THE RAZAN

16

IT WAS A GREY DAY. THE WEATHER WAS neither cold nor warm, but windless and dull. Drizzle fell in swathing curtains from a sky the hue of much-watered milk. Ben and Ned had been walking inland for several days, avoiding villages and anyplace where people lived. They crouched in the lee of a rock jutting out of a field, huddling together, unable to escape the enveloping wetness. Ben imparted a thought to Ned. “D’you think they’ll still be searching for survivors from the Marie?”

The black Labrador shook his head. “Well, there’s been no sign of anybody since dawn. We’re alone out here. Those villagers will be back home now and the sailors back aboard their ships. We must get something to eat, Ben—a couple of sour apples and two turnips are all we’ve had since we left the coast.”

Blowing rainwater from the tip of his nose, Ben agreed. “Aye, my stomach’s been growling worse than you, mate. See up ahead there, top of that slope a few fields away? It looks like woodland to me. Shall we give it a try?”

Ned raised his head and squinted into the rain. “Why not? At least we’ll get some decent shelter under the trees. I’m not fond of this country, it’s too quiet altogether. Come on, all we’re doing is getting wetter sitting here.”

The sound of water squelching and splashing from the grass and earth beneath their feet was muffled by the downfall as they ran across the eerily silent landscape. It was tough going for tired limbs as they made their way uphill. Breathless and saturated, Ben and Ned finally arrived beneath the shelter of the trees on a thickly wooded hilltop. A variety of white beam, juneberry, elm, beech and various conifers grew in profusion to provide a fairly dry covering overhead. The two friends sat with their backs against a broad elm on the fringe, gazing out over the dismal countryside.

A shudder passed through Ben as he rubbed his hands up and down both arms. “Huh, what I wouldn’t give for a cheery old fire, that rain has chilled my bones!”

Ned settled down, chin on paws. “A good old fire, eh? I’ll let you know if I come across one. Maybe it’ll brighten up by midnoon and we’ll take a proper look around. Meanwhile, I’m tired. Let’s take a nap for an hour or two.”

Ben lay down by the dog’s side. As they watched the rain drifting down out in the open, weariness overcame the pair, and, eyelids drooping, they dropped into slumber.

Ben was not aware of how long he had slept. He woke shivering to the feel of Ned’s rough tongue licking his hand. It was almost dark.

The boy complained, rubbing his eyes. “What did you wake me for, mate? I was having a nice sleep there. Nice but cold. Brrrr!”

The Labrador’s mental message reached him. “That good old fire you were going on about, it’s not too far from here.”

Ben stood up, peering into the thick, darkening woodlands. “Where? I can’t see it.”

Ned pointed with his nose, like a hunting dog. “Over that way somewhere. I can’t see it either, but I can smell it. Let’s go easy now, we don’t know what sort of person lit the fire. Follow me, but quietly, Ben, quietly.”

Ben trailed in his dog’s path, through bush and foliage and round the gnarled trunks of big, ancient trees. Ned halted after a while, sheltering himself behind an oak. “There it is—told you I could smell fire.”

Ben stood on tiptoe to get a clear view of the distant light. He could make out a small pedlar’s cart, its shafts resting on the ground in a small clearing. The two friends crept forward until both could see properly. A man was sleeping by the fire, and there was no sign of a horse or donkey to pull the cart. A girl in her midteens was sitting chained to a cartwheel, a scarf bound round her mouth as a gag.

Unwittingly, Ben trod on a dry twig. It snapped underfoot. The man, a big fat fellow, grunted in his sleep and rolled over onto his back. He began snoring loudly, but the girl saw them. She locked eyes with Ben.

The boy held a finger to his lips, hearing Ned’s thought. “Not much use telling her to be quiet—she’s got no choice with that gag on. Look, her eyes are moving up and down. She’s nodding toward something. Let’s get a bit closer!”

A wooden club with a leather-bound handle lay close by the sleeping man. Ben knew immediately that the girl’s eyes were signalling him to use the club on the man. He looked at Ned. “What shall we do?”

The dog’s thoughts were not in the least hesitant. “That’s a pretty girl the fat rogue’s keeping prisoner. Wallop him with the club, Ben. That way we’ll be able to free her, and he’ll get a sound night’s sleep. Go on!”

Bent almost double, the boy inched forward into the firelight. The girl was urging him on, nodding her head furiously. Ben was unsure what force it would take to stun the big fat man, but he lifted the club and gave the fellow’s head a sharp rap. The man sat bolt upright, one hand rubbing his head, the other shooting out to grab the boy’s leg as he roared angrily. “You little murderer, what the h—”

Ben swung the club overarm, closing his eyes as he heard the loud bonk it made on the man’s skull. Ned trotted into the firelight, nodding his approval. “That’s more like it, mate. Get that gag out of the maid’s mouth!”

Throwing down the club, Ben swiftly knelt and undid the scarf. The girl was indeed pretty—almond-skinned, doe-eyed and slender with a mass of black curls framing her face. Ben was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice.

“That lard barrel has the key to these shackles on a string around his neck. Get them here before he wakes up. Quick!”

Lifting the man’s head, Ben pulled the string over it and took the key, then undid the lock that held her wrists chained to the metal wheel rim. No sooner was she free than the girl bounded over, grabbed the club and whacked it down hard twice on the unconscious man’s ankle. He moaned softly. She raised the club high, her voice harsh.

“Here, I’ll give you something to whine about!”

Ben caught her arm and wrenched the club from her. “What are you trying to do, kill him?”

Taking several long, burning branches from the fire, the girl bound them together like a torch. “Hah! That’d be no bad thing, he deserves killin’. Let’s get out of here!”

Grabbing a small bag from the cart, she tossed it to Ben. “Here, you carry the food!”

Ned ran hard on her heels, exchanging thoughts. “She’s a fierce one, mate, I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her. See the way she swung that club!”

“Maybe she did it with good reason, Ned. Anyhow, at least we’ve got food and the means to make a fire. I wish she’d slow down. Whew! That girl can certainly run!”

It was quite a while before the girl stopped running. She chose a spot deep in the woods, surrounded by trees and backed by an outcropping of several tall rocks. “Get wood for a fire before this torch burns down to nothing!”

Wordlessly, Ben and Ned foraged around for dry wood. As she built the fire, the girl took the branches of dead pine that Ned was carrying in his mouth.

She beckoned Ben to sit beside her and stroked Ned. “This is a good clever dog, I like him. What’s his name?”

The boy began opening the bag she had taken from the cart. “I’m Ben, and he’s called Ned. What’s your name?”

She snatched the bag from him. “Karayna, but they call me Karay.” She took a small stale loaf of wheat bread from the bag. Breaking it into three equal pieces, she handed one to Ben, threw the other to Ned, and began tearing at her own portion.

Ben watched her face in the firelight—she was indeed very nice-looking. “You were pretty hard on the man, Karay. Why?”

She rubbed at her wrist where the chain had chafed it. “Huh, that miserable gut bucket! We were in prison together, at Leon, but we broke out and stole the cart. Since then he’s used me like a horse, making me pull the cart and get his food for him. He chained me to the cart every night, said he was going to sell me in the mountains on the Spanish border. Don’t worry about that fat worm anymore—he won’t find it so easy to get along with a broken ankle. Nobody treats me like that and gets away with it!”

Ben chewed on the hard bread thoughtfully. “What were you both doing in prison?”

Karay elbowed him smartly in the ribs. “That’s no business of yours. But, if y’must know, I was a singer and he was a clown. We went from town to town, entertaining on market days. He’d mingle with the crowd while I sang, and I’d do the same when he was doing his act.”

Ben frowned. “Mingle with the crowd. What for?”

She smiled scornfully at him. “To pick pockets and purses, of course. I’m good at it, you see. ‘Twas that fat greasy ass who got us caught, not me. Anyhow, what are you and your dog doing wandering this forest?”

Ben stared into the fire. “Oh, nothing really, just wandering.”

Karay laughed. “Hahaha, who d’ye think you’re tryin’ to fool? I bet you two are the ones those sailors and townsfolk were searching for. Came off that pirate ship the navy sunk. I heard them talking in the jailhouse.”

Ben felt a flash of resentment toward the outspoken girl. “No, we didn’t, and anyhow, I don’t want to talk about it!”

Karay pouted her lips and tossed her hair. “And I don’t want to hear about it, so there!”

Her gesture so amused Ben that he mimicked it. “Huh, and I’m not so sure I should be keeping company with a thief. So there!”

Instinctively they both burst out laughing. After that the atmosphere was a lot more friendly. Ned joined them both by the fire. Stroking the dog’s silky ears, Karay watched him blink appreciatively. “I wish I had a dog like good old Neddy,” the girl mused.

Ned immediately bristled, contacting Ben. “Tell her!”

He stalked off to the opposite side of the fire and lay in the shadows while Ben explained to Karay. “He doesn’t like being called Neddy, it makes him sound like a worn-out old nag. He much prefers Ned.”

The girl stared into Ben’s clouded blue eyes. “How d’you know?”

Ben shrugged. “He told me.”

She chuckled. “I suppose you two talk together a lot, eh?”

The boy stirred the fire with a branch. “When friends are together for a long time, they get to know each other.”

Karay stared into the flickering flames. “It must be nice to be like that. I’ve never known anybody long enough to be really friendly with—parents, family or companions. D’you suppose we’ll get to know each other in that sort of way?”

Suddenly Ben felt a pang of pity, both for himself and for Karay. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, staring into the fire. A barefoot girl clad in a long, tattered red dress with an old black shawl thrown about her shoulders. Ben knew that someday he and Ned would have to walk away and leave, never again to see her. Or to let her see him, an eternal boy, never growing old.

He was about to concoct an answer that would not hurt her feelings when Ned’s voice entered his mind. “Stay still, Ben, don’t look around or bat an eyelid. We’re being watched!”

Ben did as the dog bid him, though his mind was racing. “Who is it, Ned? Is there more than one of them? I’ve still got this branch in my hand to poke the fire. Are they armed? Can you see them?”

Ned’s mental reply came back. “I think there’s only one. He’s just peeping round the corner of the rocks behind you both. I’ve shuffled back into the bushes, so he doesn’t know I’m here. Now, I’m going to circle behind him. The moment he makes a move I’ll jump on his back and knock him down. Be ready with that branch, Ben, and lay him out if he gets rough. Here goes!”

Unaware of what was going on, Karay sat back against the rock. Pulling her shawl close, she began drifting into a doze. Ben’s grip tightened on the branch as he tried not to look alert. Slight crackling from the fire was the only sound in the still night as seconds passed like hours. Ben tried letting his eyelids droop, acting as a decoy, though his whole body was tensed like a steel spring.

Suddenly a slender-built young fellow, carrying a battered leather satchel over one shoulder, stepped from behind the rocks. He started to speak.

“I saw your fire—oof!”

Springing pantherlike from the top of a rock, Ned landed on the intruder, knocking him facedown. Ben leapt up but was pushed aside as Karay bounded past him. The girl jumped with both feet on the newcomer’s back, forcing the breath from him in a whoosh as Ned nipped to one side, avoiding her feet.

She knelt on her victim’s shoulderblades, grabbed a knife from the back of his belt and seized him by the hair. Tugging his head back savagely, the girl pressed the knife blade against his throat, growling like a tigress.

“Be still or I’ll cut your throat!”

Ben guessed the intruder was about his own age. His eyes were wide with fear, staring straight at Ben, who hurried over and grabbed Karay’s wrist. “Stop, don’t hurt him!”

The girl frowned at him. “Why not? He was carrying a knife—maybe he was goin’ to rob or murder us!”

Ben forced her hand to the ground and placed his foot on the knife blade. “He doesn’t look in a position to rob or murder anyone at the moment, thanks to you. Now then, you robbing murderer, what’s your name?”

“Dominic,” the captive managed to gasp as he tried to regain his breath. “I mean you no harm, honest—uurrgh!”

Karay dragged his head further back, hissing viciously into his ear. “Then why were you sneaking around, spyin’ on us an’ carryin’ a knife, eh?”

Ben had put up with enough of the girl’s barbaric behaviour. He passed a swift thought to Ned. “Settle her, mate, before she breaks that poor fellow’s neck!”

The black Labrador rushed her, pushing Karay off the young man with a powerful thrust of his forepaws. Ben retrieved the knife and stowed it in his belt, then held out his hand to the stranger named Dominic. “Up you come, mate!”

He held out his other hand to the girl. “You too, Karay. I hardly think Dominic is a murderer or a thief—he looks friendly enough to me.”

Karay gave Ned a frosty glare as she dusted herself down. “Pushing me over like that, and I thought you were my friend!”

They went back to the fire and sat down together, though it took some time for Karay to regain both temper and dignity. Dominic was not one whom anybody could take a dislike to, for he had a gentle manner, a soft voice and a winning smile. Ned sat with his head on Dominic’s knee, gazing up at him as he communicated with Ben. “I like Dominic, he looks like a real pal!”

Karay was still doubtful. She questioned him closely. “What brings you to this part of the woods? Where are you bound?”

He pointed east. “I was going to the fair at Veron to see if I could earn some money.”

“I can always make money at country fairs,” bragged Karay.

Ben’s voice carried a note of sternness. “Not by stealing, I hope. You’d end up in prison, probably we would, too.”

The girl began to get huffy again. “I’ve no need to steal, if it’s a good fair—people will pay to hear me sing. I’m a great singer.” She changed the subject by turning back to Dominic. “How d’you earn your living? By selling things?”

For answer, Dominic opened his worn leather satchel. He produced charcoals, chalks, a slender steel file with a broken tip and some pieces of slate. “I make faces.”

Ben’s interest quickened. “You mean you’re an artist? I’ve never met an artist. Who taught you, did you attend a school?”

Dominic was already at work, glancing up and down at Ned as he scraped away at a piece of slate with the broken file. He talked as he sketched. “Nobody ever taught me, I was born with the skill to draw. I come from Sabada in Spain, but I was banished from there when I was very young. Hmm, this is an interesting dog.”

Ned’s thought reached Ben. “I’ll say I’m interesting—noble and handsome, too. Told you I liked Dominic—”

Ben interrupted the dog’s thought. “Why were you banished?”

Dominic concentrated on his portrait as he answered. “They were ignorant people, but sooner or later I am driven from anyplace I go. People think I am a magician, and they get scared—I don’t blame them. My pictures are like no others. When I draw the likeness of anybody, man, woman or child, the truth is in my picture. I cannot help it—good, evil, deceit, envy, love, tenderness or cruelty. All of these things show up in my work, it is as if I can see into the very heart and soul of those whom I sketch. Ah, here you are, Ned, this is you, honest, noble, handsome and above all, faithful. Though there is something else behind those wonderful eyes that I cannot quite capture. Look!”

Ben, Ned and Karay all gazed at the finished sketch. It was everything Dominic said it would be. Ned placed a paw on the artist’s knee as he communicated with Ben. “This is absolutely brilliant! It’s as if I’m looking at myself in a still pool. It’s me to the life!”

Ben agreed, speaking out loud to the others. “This is truly remarkable! You have a great talent, Dominic!”

Karay chimed in, “Aye, you’re pretty good. Will you draw me?”

Dominic took out a piece of flat, dried aspen bark and began sketching on it with a charcoal stick, shading and shadowing with deft flicks of his thumb to give depth. When he came to the eyes, he chuckled. “You are quick and clever, Karay, with a swift temper. Everything you see that you want must become yours. You are a rogue and a thief, but a pretty one.”

The girl snatched the knife from Ben’s belt and pointed it. “Who do you think you are, talking about me like that?”

The artist held up the picture, with the eyes completed. “See!”

Karay gasped with shock—it was all there. Her beauty and wildness were captured perfectly, along with the furtive slyness of a thief shining from her eyes. Her cheeks reddened as she grabbed the bark portrait and hid it beneath her shawl.

“This is mine now. I’ll pay you for it when I make some money. Now ‘tis your turn, Ben. Go on, draw him, Dominic!”

For a moment Dominic locked eyes with Ben, gazing hard. Then he shook his head and began putting his materials back into the satchel. “No, no, I cannot draw Ben!”

Karay teased him. “What’s the matter, haven’t you got the skill? Or are you just scared to, eh?”

Ben looked away from Dominic, for he knew what the artist had seen. Over half a century in a boy’s eyes, the wild seas, Vanderdecken and the Flying Dutchman, roaring oceans, thundering cannon, Captain Thuron lying dead beneath deep fathoms in a sunken ship. That and a thousand other things, things not of this earth. Like the terrifying beauty of an angel damning a ship and its crew to eternity.

Ben took the knife gently from the girl. “Let him be, Karay. How can he draw bad dreams and nightmares—there have been enough of those in my life, eh, Dominic?”

The artist agreed. “Too many for a simple facemaker.”

Karay snapped her fingers together. “You’re the Facemaker of Sabada! I’ve heard of you before. Hah, I expected you to look like some kind of terrifying wizard. Weren’t you the one who was locked in the pillory in the town of Somador for the picture you made of the magistrate’s wife?”

Dominic nodded. “Aye, that was me, though I didn’t want to sketch the woman in the first place. Her husband, the magistrate, he insisted on my doing the portrait—he said that I was to make her look beautiful and gracious.”

Ben handed the facemaker’s knife back to him. “And did you?”

Dominic chuckled. “I tried to, but she came out looking as she really was, a glutton and a miser.” His face hardened. “For that, the magistrate had me beaten and locked by my head and arms in the pillory for three days and nights. So, you see, this talent of mine can sometimes be a millstone about my neck.”

They sat in silence for a while. Karay began to feel sorry about her treatment of Dominic. She saw him cast a brief glance at the crust of bread in her hand. “Do you have any food in your satchel, Facemaker?”

He smiled ruefully. “Alas, no, just drawing materials and an empty flagon I use for drinking water.”

The girl peered into the darkness. “If there were a stream or a lake near here, I could have got us some fish.”

Ned’s ears perked up as he sent a message to Ben. “Tell her I’ll find water. There’s always some about in woodlands. Hope there’s fish, too. I’m starving!”

Ben answered the thought. “Right, then, we’ll have to start playing silly little games for our friends’ benefit.” He took the flagon from Dominic’s satchel and let the dog sniff it as he spoke to Karay. “Watch this. Here Ned, good dog! Water, where’s the water, boy?”

The black Labrador chuckled inwardly. “As if I didn’t know, eh? The things I have to do to impress folk!” He wandered off slowly, sniffing the ground and the air.

Ben turned to Karay. “Go with him, he’ll find water for you.”

The girl was delighted. “Good old Neddy … I mean Ned. Sorry.”

Together they took off into the night.

Ben looked across the fire at Dominic. “I’m glad you didn’t try to sketch me. What did you really see?”

The Facemaker of Sabada averted his eyes. “Too much, my friend, far too much. I have enough problems of my own without adding your burden to my mind. How has one of your age lived through such perils ? I saw things in your eyes I have never seen, even in dreams. Somebody my own age who has had the experiences of so many years. No, Ben, it is too much for me to understand, let’s not talk about it. Your secret shall remain with you, and Ned, too, I think. Trust me, I will be a true friend to you both.”

Ben shook the artist’s outstretched hand gratefully. “Thank you, Dominic, I know you’ll be a rare and good pal. There, that’s that! I hope Karay and Ned find water soon. Tomorrow we’ll travel together, all four of us, to the fair at Veron. But, for now, let’s enjoy a bit of peace and quiet without our fierce girlfriend.”

Dominic smiled. “Oh, she’s fierce and quick-tempered alright, but Karay has a good heart, I know it.”

Still feeling the odd drops of rain, they sat back and relaxed, the fireglow creating a small cavern of light and warmth in a dark forest night.

Both the lads had dozed off for the better part of an hour when they were roused by Karay and Ned returning. Boisterously the dog and the girl romped in, emptying their spoils onto a flat chunk of rock. Karay was wet but triumphant, and Ned shook water from his coat, woofing softly as he gave out thoughts to Ben. “Fish! Look at those beauties, I caught one of ‘em!”

Karay busied herself with the four fat rudd, strung through their gills on a thick reed. “Pass me your knife, Facemaker. Your Ned’s a good fisherdog, Ben, he caught this big one!”

She chattered away animatedly whilst cleaning the fish. “Ned found a stream, quite slow runnin’ and clear. I tickled the rudd out from under the bank, an’ Ned trapped one in the shallows. Found watercress too, see? Got some wood sorrel, dandelion roots an’ raspberries. You just watch me, I’ll make a meal for us, fit for a king …”

While Karay rattled on, Ned communicated with Ben. “You should’ve seen her, mate, she let those fish swim into her hand, tickled them a bit, then slung ‘em out onto the bank. A body would never be hungry long with Karay as a pal!”

The girl was as good as her word. They dined on roast fish with chopped herbs and toasted bread. The raspberries provided a dessert.

Karay sucked on a fish bone. “That’s the last of the bread— how far is it to Veron?”

“About six hours’ steady walking,” Dominic replied.

Karay piled more wood on the fire. “Good! If we set off at dawn we should make it about midday. Get some sleep now.”

Ben saluted her. “Aye aye, marm, right away!”

Ned stretched out and sighed. “Bit bossy, but a good cook!” Ben was surprised when Karay lay back and began singing. Her voice had the husky sweetness of a Spanish lady he had heard singing on the quay at Cartagena, soothing and melodic.

“I will search the wide world over,

By the sea or by land,

Like a dove I’ll soar the seasons,

‘Til I touch his hand.

Through the towns where folk gather,

O’er lone windswept hills,

I will never cease roaming ‘til

My dreams he fulfills.

And I’ll cry to the moon above,

Where oh where bides my true love?

Will I see his face at dawning,

Like a poor maiden’s prayer?

In some purple-shaded valley,

Will he be waiting there?

In the still silent waters,

Will his fond face I see?

Ever smiling, eyes beguiling,

And he’ll love only me.

Then I’ll cry to the moon above

Here oh here is my true love.”

Ben slept more peacefully than he had in many a long night, with the embers warming him and Ned stretched by his side, surrounded by the tranquillity and silence of enveloping woodland darkness. No nightmares of Vanderdecken steering the heaven-cursed Flying Dutchman across storm-torn seas of eternal damnation marred his dreams. Rose-hued mists tinted the boy’s slumber. From afar the angel spoke, soft, clear, but insistent.

“A man who has not children

Will name you as his son.

In that hour, you must be gone!

Turn your face back to the sea,

You will meet another one,

A father with no children,

Before you travel on. Help him to help his children,

As his kinsman would have done.”

All night the words echoed through Ben’s mind. He did not puzzle over them, knowing that he was unable to resist any destiny that heaven had already planned.

17

A FINE SUNNY MORNING reigned over all as they left the woodlands, emerging onto a hilltop. Ben stopped a moment to take in the pleasant panorama. Dominic explained where they were and whither they were bound. “We’re travelling south—those mountains you see ahead are the Pyrenees. It’s uphill and down dale from here. That third hilltop, ‘twixt here and the mountains, that’s Veron. Perhaps we can save a bit of climbing by following that stream around the hills and through the valleys.”

Karay set off, calling back to them as she ran alongside Ned, “Come on then, we’ll race you there!”

Ben watched them dashing downhill. “Let them go. She’ll get tired of running before Ned does. Come on, mate, we’ll walk like ordinary, sensible folk.”

He and Dominic set out at a leisurely pace. They found the girl sitting panting on a stream bank at the foot of the next hill. Ned was tugging at the hem of her dress. He looked up at Ben approaching and sent him a message. “Weak, fickle things human beings are. Look, she’s out of breath already—a puppy’d have more stamina than this girl!”

Dominic winked at Ben, remarking to Karay as they strolled past her, “Good morning, marm. If you sit there all day you’ll miss the fair at Veron. I’m told ‘tis a good one!”

Both boys ducked as the girl splashed stream water at them. “Wait for me, you villains!” She had to run to catch up with them.

Veron was classed as a town, albeit a rather small one. It sat atop a gently sloping hill, with a meandering path leading up to its gates. Veron must once have been a fortress, for it was enclosed by stone walls, ancient but thick and solid. The fair was little more than a weekend market held once each month from a Friday midday to a Monday late noon.

Ben and his friends arrived early, taking their place behind a line of country folk waiting to be allowed through the town gates by the wall guards. They shuffled along with the motley crowd, their eyes roving with interest over the colourful scene. Carts piled high with fruit, vegetables and rural produce jostled behind rustic smocked drovers herding cattle, sheep, goats and horses. Wagons bearing disassembled stalls of painted wood and dyed canvas trundled uphill, hauled and pushed by entire families. Ducks and geese flapped between the wheels, honking and quacking, adding to the noisy cavalcade as the fairgoers, chiding youngsters and discussing prospects, all shuffled forward, eager to be inside the gates.

As they got closer to the entrance, Ned sent a thought to Ben. “Look, people are having to pay a toll to get in.”

Ben turned to Karay and Dominic. “Looks like it’s been a waste of time coming here. We’ve got to pay the guards to get in. I don’t have any money—do either of you?”

Dominic’s face fell. “I didn’t know you had to pay admission. I haven’t got a single centime on me!”

Karay shook her head, stifling a scornful giggle. “What a pair of bumpkins! Money, huh! Who needs money to get past those gates? Leave this to me. You two just hang about and look as you do now, a real pair of yokels. I’ll do all the talking.”

Ben shrugged. “As you say, marm, we’ll follow the leader!”

The two wall guards were only ordinary town watchmen, each sporting a crested armband and a helmet that had seen better days. They carried long, antiquated pikes and barred the gates after each entrant in an overblown manner of importance.

Ben communicated an uneasy thought to his dog. “I hope she knows what she’s doing—that’s a long hill to be kicked down.”

The black Labrador nuzzled his hand. “Trust Karay, m’boy, she looks as if she’s done this before a few times!”

As the four of them approached, both guards lowered their pikes, barring the entrance. The bigger of the two held out his hand. “Two centimes each, an’ one for the dog. That’s, er …”

“Seven centimes,” the smaller guard said.

Karay looked puzzled. She directed her attention to the big guard, letting her hand rest on his arm. “But, Captain, didn’t our mother or father pay you?”

Being addressed as captain made the guard puff out his chest. He gazed down officiously into the pretty girl’s eyes. “I don’t know your parents, miss, and no one’s paid me extra to allow others in today!”

Karay fluttered her eyes and grasped the guard’s arm. “Oh, Captain, you surely must know them. Emile and Agnes? Our family has the pancake and honey stall. They left home hours before we did.”

The guard saw Karay’s lip quiver. He patted her hand gently. “Well, they mustn’t have arrived yet, miss. You an’ your brothers stand to one side now an’ wait for them, eh.”

Ben was amazed to see a tear spring unbidden to the girl’s eye. Karay was clinging to the guard’s arm now, gazing imploringly up at him, her voice all atremble. “Oh please, Captain, you must let us in. If our parents are not there, our stall space will be taken by someone else. I think the wheel must have come off the cart again. Father will be fixing it—they’ll be along any minute now, expecting to find us watching their stall space. We’re a poor family, Captain, but we’re honest. I’ll bring the money straight out to you, as soon as the stall is set up and we’re selling our wares.”

The guard began to soften. He murmured to his partner. “What d’you think?”

The smaller guard shrugged. ” ‘Tis up to you, Giles,” he whispered.

Karay suddenly brightened up. “Giles—that’s him, isn’t it?” Ben and Dominic nodded eagerly as the girl pressed her point. “Mother said she’d pay you, Captain, she told us to ask for the tall, good-looking one. Giles, she said!”

Most of the people behind them were getting impatient and calling out for Karay to move aside so they could get in. Giles shook his pike and bellowed. “Silence, or none of you will enter the fair. I’ll say who gets in!”

Karay continued with her pleading. “I promise, Captain, I’ll bring the money out as soon as possible. I’ll bring you a pancake each, too, with butter and honey on it, piping hot!”

That settled the matter. Giles lowered his pike. “In you go, quick now! Oh, and could you manage a squeeze of lemon juice on those pancakes?”

Karay pushed Ben and Dominic in front of her through the gateway. Ned stood by her side as she replied, “I’ll make them myself, with plenty of lemon juice. See you later, Captain. Come on, boy, before our space gets taken!”

The guard watched them hurry inside and winked at his companion. “Good manners, that girl—pretty, too!”

Inside Veron’s main square there was a real bustle of festive atmosphere. Stalls were packed together so tightly that folk had to push and jostle to negotiate the narrow aisle spaces. The friends sat together on a broad flight of steps that fronted a grand manor house with a southern exposure.

Dominic chided Karay humorously. “No sign of Emile or Agnes yet. Oh dear, I wonder where Mother and Father have got to. You’re a great liar, Karay!”

The girl slapped his arm lightly. “Well, at least I got us into the fair, didn’t I, my slow-witted yokel brother.”

Ben chuckled as he ruffled Ned’s ears. “Don’t forget now, you owe those guards seven centimes and two hot pancakes.”

Ned’s thought chimed in on Ben. “Mmm, thick with butter and honey. No lemon for me, thanks.”

Karay’s eyes twinkled. “Pancakes, that’s what we need, I’m famished!”

She rose swiftly and cut off toward the stalls.

Ned pawed at Ben’s leg. “We’d best go after her. There’s no telling what that young madam will be up to next!”

“You’re right, mate.” Ben returned Ned’s thought. He pulled Dominic up from the step. “Come on, Dom, it’s a bit risky letting that little thief wander off alone.”

Karay had found herself a pancake stall where there was only a middle-aged lady attending to it. The girl stood back, watching everything closely.

“Thinking of stealing pancakes now, are we?”

She turned to see Ben, Dominic and Ned behind her. Karay hissed at them angrily. “I’m not stealing anything—she’ll give me some pancakes gladly. Now be quiet and let me study that stall. I’ll get us some food!”

Ned nudged his head against Ben’s leg. “I’d do as Karay says if I were you. Give her a chance.”

After a while Karay sauntered over to the stall, where she waited until the woman was not busy serving. Passing a forearm across her brow, the woman sighed. “Pancakes are two centimes each, three with butter, four with honey and butter, three with just salt and lemon juice. Do you want one, miss?”

The girl stared hard at the woman, letting a silence pass before she spoke. “You work very hard for a widowed lady.”

The woman wiped her butter ladle on a clean cloth. “I’ve not met you before, how d’you know I’m a widow?”

Karay closed her eyes and held up a finger. Her voice was slow and confidential, as if sharing a secret. “I know many things, Madame. The eye of my mind sees the past as well as the present and the future. That is my gift, given to me by the good Saint Veronique, whom I am named after.”

The woman crossed herself and kissed her thumbnail. “Saint Veronique! Tell me more!”

Karay’s eyes opened. She smiled sadly and shook her head. “It tires me greatly to use my skills. I have just come from Spain, where I was given five gold coins for seeing into the fortunes of a noble lady of Burgos.”

The woman’s mouth set in a tight line as she mixed pancake batter. “You’re a fortuneteller! My money is too hard-earned to spend upon such fancies and lies!”

Karay looked proudly down her nose at the pancake seller. “I already have gold coins. What do I need with your few centimes, Madame Gilbert?”

Batter slopped from the bowl as the woman stopped stirring. “How do you know my husband’s name?”

Karay replied offhandedly. “It was never the name of the children you did not have. Shall I see into your future?”

The woman’s face fell. “You’re right, we never had children. If you don’t want money for telling my fortune, then why did you come here? What do you want from me, miss?”

The girl smiled, sniffing dreamily at the aroma from the stall. “My grandmother used to make pancakes for me exactly like the ones you make—proper country style, eh?”

The pancake seller smiled fondly. “Ah, yes, proper country style … You could tell my fortune and I’d give you one.”

Karay turned her head away as if offended. “Only one?”

Shooing off a wasp and covering the honey pail, the woman spread her arms wide. “How many then, tell me.”

Karay played with her dark ringlets a moment. “Eight—no, better make it a dozen. I have a long way to travel, and the food they serve at some inns is not to my taste.”

The woman looked a bit shocked. “Twelve pancakes is a lot!”

Karay shrugged airily. “I could eat them easily, with enough honey and butter spread on them. It is a small price to pay for knowing what life and fate will bring to you, Madame.”

The woman wiped both hands on her apron. “I will pay!”

Karay came behind the planks that served as a counter. “Let me see the palm of your right hand.”

The woman proffered her outspread palm. Karay pored over it, whispering prayers for guidance from Saint Veronique loudly enough for her customer to hear. Then she began.

“Ah yes, I see Gilbert, your husband, he was a good baker. Since he has gone you have worked hard and long to set up your business. But fear not, you aren’t alone. Who is this good man who helps you?”

The woman looked up from her own palm. “You mean Monsieur Frane, the farmer?”

The girl nodded. “He is a good man, even though he has lost a partner, his wife. He comes to help you often, yes?”

The woman smiled. “From dawn to dusk, if I ask him.”

Karay smiled back at her. “He thinks a lot of you. So does his daughter.”

The pancake seller agreed. “Jeanette is a good girl, almost like a daughter to me—she visits a lot, too. Tell me more.”

Karay made a few signs over the woman’s palm. “Now for the future. Listen carefully to what I tell you. Do not go home tonight—take a room at a local inn. Stay a few days longer after the fair. Sit by the window each day and watch out for Monsieur Frane and Jeanette, they will come. You must tell him that your work is tiring you, that you no longer want to continue with it. Tell him you are thinking of selling your house and bakery and moving.”

The woman looked mystified. “But why would I do that?”

The girl silenced the woman with a wave of her hand. “Do you want me to see further into your future, Madame?”

The woman nodded, and Karay continued. “I see you happily married, a farmer’s wife, with a dear devoted daughter. The only baking you will bother with is their daily bread and cakes to eat in the evening around your farmhouse fire. Trust me, Madame, your fate will be aided by your own efforts. Saint Veronique sees you as a good person, I know this.”

Suddenly the woman threw her arms about the girl and kissed her. “Are you sure twelve pancakes will be enough, my dear?”

Back on the steps outside the manor house, two boys, a girl and a dog feasted on hot pancakes spread thick with country butter and comb honey. Ben licked his fingers, gazing at Karay in awe. “Tell us how you managed to do it. Widow, farmer, daughter, husband’s name, and who, pray, is Saint Veronique?”

Karay’s explanation made it all sound simple. “Veron is the name of this place, so I thought Veronique made it sound nice and local. I don’t know who Saint Veronique is, but she certainly helped us. The cart was a good clue. It had been painted over but I could still see the words, the name in white, beneath the last coat: ‘S. Gilbert. Baker.’ He was nowhere to be seen, the woman was working alone and she’d had the name on the cart painted over. So I guessed she was a widow, without children, too. That woman’s middle-aged; if she had children, they’d probably be about our age. If that was so, they’d be helping their mother to run the business. She leaves her house alone to travel here: someone must watch it for her—the farmer Frane. A single woman could not handle it all, so he helps her. If his wife were alive, she would not hear of such a thing. He would not be allowed to spend most of his day at a widow’s house and neglect his own. The woman was wearing a bracelet, a cheap pretty thing, not the sort she would spend money on. I guessed that a young girl had bought it for her. I was right. So, the farmer has a young daughter. They both like the pancake lady. Two people, a widow and a widower, living close to each other. The girl Jeanette likes the widow; to the widow, Jeanette is the daughter she never had. As for the rest, I was only telling that woman what the future could hold if she played her cards right. What’s wrong with her becoming a farmer’s wife and having a daughter? That’s what she wants, isn’t it? I was only telling her the best way to do it. Monsieur Frane and Jeanette would be very sad if she sold up and moved away. It’ll happen, and they’ll be happy together. Mark my words!”

Ben shook his head admiringly. “Don’t you ever guess wrongly?”

The girl licked honey from her fingers. “Sometimes, but I can always manage to talk my way out of mistakes. The whole thing is just luck, guesswork, a bit of shrewd watching, and telling the customer things they like to hear. Right, let’s set up stall here on these steps. Dominic, get your sketching stuff out. Ben, you and Ned sit here by me, try to look poor but honest. I’ll start singing to attract the customers. Come on, now, we can save some of the pancakes for later. Dominic, do another sketch of Ned.”

The dog sat by Karay’s side and winked at Ben. “You look poor, I’ll look honest!”

Karay folded her shawl in two and spread it out at her feet to catch any coins that were thrown. Dominic took up a piece of slate and his chalks. Ben sat on the other side of the girl, listening as she sang sweetly.

“Oh kind sir and madam, you good children too,

Pray stop here awhile, and I’ll sing just for you

Of mysterious places, across the wide sea,

Of distant Cathay and of old Araby,

Where caravans trail, like bright streamers of silk

To far misted mountains, with peaks white as milk,

And ships tall as temples, spread sails wide and bold,

All laden with spices, fine rubies and gold,

Fine harbours where garlanded flowers deck piers,

In the lands of great mandarins, lords and emirs,

Where beautiful maidens, with priests old and wise,

Sing songs or chant prayers ‘neath forgotten blue skies.

Have your eyes not beheld them, then hark to my song,

And your heart will be there, in sweet dreams before long.”

Gradually a few people gathered. One of them was an old fellow pushing a cart on which he had a churn of buttermilk, a ladle and some earthenware bowls. When Karay finished her song, he applauded loudly, calling out, “What a fine voice! Sing some more, young maid!”

The girl held out her hand to him. “Let me get my breath, sir. Come on up here and get your likeness sketched by a real artist. We won’t charge you much!”

The old fellow chuckled, shaking his head. “No thank ye, miss, I haven’t got money to spend on pictures. Besides, who’d want to sketch a battered old relic like me, eh?”

Ben coaxed the old man up and sat him on the top step, facing Dominic, and reassured the reluctant sitter. “We’re not talking money, sir. A bowl apiece of your buttermilk to quench our thirst would be enough. My friend is a good artist, you’ll like his picture, I’m sure. Don’t be shy. Here, I’ll let my dog sit with you, he’s a good companion.”

Some of the watchers called out encouragement to the old fellow, and he finally agreed to be sketched. “Go on then, it’ll give my wife something to throw mud at when she’s angry with me!”

Dominic captured the spirit of the old buttermilk vendor amazingly. More folk had gathered to watch, and they viewed the likeness with astonishment.

“Oh it’s wonderful, what a nice picture!”

‘Aye, very lifelike. He’s even drawn that black dog, with its paw on his knee, see!’

“Doesn’t the old man’s face look kind and jolly!”

Ned watched them admiring the picture as he contacted Ben. “A true artist, eh? He’s made me look even nobler on that sketch, and see the old man’s eyes. Every crinkle and crease is perfect. You can see by looking at them that he’s a cheery old codger with a good nature. Right, who’s next to have their picture sketched—with the noble Ned, of course. I’m getting used to being famous!”

Ben tugged his dog’s tail. “Stop boasting and drink your buttermilk, the man’s waiting on his bowls. Though he’ll have to wash that one before he serves buttermilk in it again.”

The black Labrador sniffed. “I should think so too. Peasants using the personal bowl of Ned the Noble!”

Men and women began clamouring to have their pictures sketched next, even holding out coins in their hands. Karay nudged Ben. “Haha, we’re in business now!”

Dominic looked around before choosing his next subject. He guided a young woman carrying a baby boy up to the step. She was obviously poor—her clothing was worn and frayed— but her baby looked clean and healthy.

The woman tried to avoid Dominic, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she pleaded with him. “Please, sir, I have barely enough money to feed my baby. I cannot afford your cost!”

The Facemaker of Sabada spoke gently to her. “There will be no cost, lady. For the privilege of sketching you both, I cannot pay you. But I will give you two pancakes, one for you and one for the babe. Hold him on your lap now, sit still and face me please.”

Slumping down on the steps beside Ben, Karay heaved a sigh of resignation. “Two customers, no, three, if you count the baby, and what have we earned so far? A bowl of buttermilk apiece! Why don’t we go and seek out some beggars, perhaps this facemaker’d like to sketch them free! Maybe we could give them the clothes off our backs for allowing us to do them the favour. Fools, that’s what we are!”

Ben was not pleased with the girl’s callous attitude. “Oh, stop grizzling, there’s nothing wrong in helping people a little. There are other things in this life besides money. Where would you be if I hadn’t helped you when you were chained to a cartwheel?”

Karay was about to make a sharp retort when they were interrupted by a richly clad lady, mounted sidesaddle on a chestnut mare. Her voice was loud and imperious. “Tell that boy he can sketch me next!”

Ned growled menacingly as she spurred the horse forward. The chestnut reared, but the lady brought it forcefully under control. She wagged her quirt at Ben. “Tie that dog up, or I’ll have it destroyed!”

The boy took hold of the Labrador’s collar. “I’m sorry, marm, Ned thought your horse was going to trample us.”

He ignored Ned’s indignant thoughts. “Pompous baggage. Both she and her horse could do with a lesson in manners!”

The lady was pointing at Dominic with her leather quirt. “Finish that picture quickly, I don’t have all day to sit here waiting whilst you mess about with peasants!”

The facemaker continued sketching, though his eyes were hot and angry as he flicked them up at the mounted lady. “Then be on your way, marm, because I don’t intend making a likeness of you!”

The young woman with the baby started to rise, but Dominic beckoned her to stay put. “Sit still, I’m almost done.”

The onlookers had to scatter as the lady wheeled her horse about and rode off, glaring hatred at Dominic.

Ned broke free of Ben’s hold and chased after the horse, barking furiously, causing the animal to break into a gallop. The lady was forced to hold on to her ornate hat as she bounced up and down awkwardly. Stall holders laughed and jeered at her ungracious exit, some even cheering Ned as he made his way back to Ben’s side.

Dominic held up the slate containing the picture of the young woman and her baby, amid gasps of admiration from everyone around. There was beauty and honesty in the woman’s face, and love for her child. Happy innocence and trust shone from the babe’s eyes—it was a perfectly beautiful likeness. He passed it over to the blushing mother, together with the food he had promised her. She curtsied deeply, stammering her thanks.

“My husband will be pleased to see this hanging over our fireplace. Thank you, thank you very much, sir!”

Dominic bowed and smiled at her. “Tell him that I said he’s a lucky man to have such a pretty wife and baby.”

Shortly after the mother and child’s departure, Dominic had just started to portray a fat, jolly housewife when a commotion arose between the stalls. He looked up from his work. “What’s all the noise about?”

Karay climbed one of the gateposts of the big manor house. “I think we’re about to find out. Here comes trouble! It’s the guards and that toffee-nosed lady you turned away.”

Dominic began gathering his materials. Ben stayed seated. “No use running, mate, let’s stick together and see what they’ve got to say. We haven’t harmed anybody or stolen anything.” He looked pointedly at Karay. “Have we?”

Climbing down from the gatepost, she joined him. “What are you lookin’ at me like that for? I haven’t lifted anything. You’re right, we’ll stick together!”

Ned looked imploringly at Ben. “I wish you’d said we should run for it. I’m guilty of disturbing a horse!”

The mounted lady, both guards from the gate and a guard captain strode up the steps, dispersing any curious onlookers before them. Dominic forestalled the captain by addressing him. “My friends and I haven’t done any wrong. I refused to sketch this lady because I am free to choose whom I draw!”

Ned’s thought crossed Ben’s mind. “I don’t blame Dominic. Just look at the frosty-faced fishwife—the behind of her horse would have made a more handsome picture to draw!” Unwittingly, Ben laughed aloud at his dog’s comical observation.

The guard captain, a neat-uniformed and stern-faced man, glared at him. “So you think it’s funny, eh?” He indicated the group with a wave of his gauntleted hand. “Are these the ones?”

The smaller guard from the gate answered. “Aye, Captain, that’s them. They slipped by us without paying, both boys, the girl and the dog. We couldn’t leave our post an’ give chase.”

The woman pointed her quirt at Dominic. “That’s the one who insulted me, impudent young wretch. I demand that you do something about it, Captain. My husband is the prefect of Toulouse, he wouldn’t allow that sort of behaviour in our town, I’m certain of that!”

Hands clasped behind his back, the captain circled Ben and his friends, lecturing them severely. “This is no laughing matter, as you’ll soon find out!”

Karay smiled sweetly at him. “Oh come now, sir, we aren’t really guilty of anyth—”

“Silence!” The captain’s face reddened as he shouted. “Defrauding the guards by entry without payment! Setting up business without licence, fees or permission! Trading on the very steps of Comte Bregon’s residence, where none are allowed to set up stall! Insulting a lady visitor to Veron and setting a dog upon her horse! And you have the effrontery to stand there and tell me that you’ve done no wrong? Arrest them and take them away immediately! The dog, too!”

Ned bared his teeth and growled ferociously. Ben slipped his hand through the dog’s collar, warning him mentally. “Hush now, mate, no use making things worse. It looks like we’re in real trouble with the authorities.”

Village folk watched in silence as the four miscreants were marched off toward a barred entrance in the wall at the far side of the big house.

18

A LONG BRICK TUNNEL LED THEM OUT INTO A sunny walled garden. With the captain in the lead and the two guards at the rear, the four friends emerged, blinking from the I darkness of the passage. It was obviously the carefully tended garden of somebody wealthy. Rose and rhododendron bushes skirted the walls, fronted by all manner of border flowers. A circular red gravel path surrounded an area of rockeries, with streamlets gurgling about them. At its centre was an ancient gazebo with stunted pear trees growing on either side. Inside the gazebo, an old man with a wispy beard sat upon a woven-cane divan. He was clad in a nightshirt, over which he wore a quilted silk jacket.

Comte Vincente Bregon did not sleep well at night, thus he passed the warm summer days in his garden, catching small catnaps to while away the hours. His eyes opened slowly at the sound of feet crunching upon gravel. As the captain passed, he saluted his master. Bregon stopped him with a slow gesture of his parchment-skinned hand. He looked at the three raggedly dressed young people and the dog.

The captain had to crane his head forward to hear the old man’s voice. “Where are you taking those children and their dog?”

Standing stiffly to attention, the captain spoke officiously. “Unlicenced traders, sir, young lawbreakers. A week or two in the dungeons will teach them some discipline and manners!”

The old comte’s eyes twinkled briefly as he addressed Ben. “Are you a very desperate criminal?”

Ben immediately liked the comte—he looked wise and kind. “No, sir, apart from not paying my two centimes entrance fee to your village fair—oh, and one centime for Ned here.”

The comte nodded slowly and smiled. “Ah, I see. And this Ned, will he bite my head off if I try to stroke him?”

Ben chuckled. “Hardly, sir, he’s a well-behaved dog. Go on, Ned, let the gentleman stroke you. Go on, boy!”

The black Labrador trotted over to the comte, passing a thought to Ben. “I do wish you’d stop talking to me as if I were still a bumble-headed puppy. This looks like a nice old buffer. I’ll charm him a bit, watch!”

Ned gazed soulfully at the comte and offered his paw. The old nobleman was delighted—he accepted the paw and stroked Ned’s head gently.

“Oh, he’s a fine fellow, aren’t you, Ned?”

Ben heard his dog’s comment. “Aye, sir, and you’re not a bad old soul yourself. Mmmm, this fellow’s an expert stroked”

The comte nodded dismissively at the captain. “You may go, leave these young ones with me.”

Blusteringly the captain protested. “But sir, they were trading on your own front steps, and they insulted the prefect of Toulouse’s wife—”

Cutting him short with an upraised hand, the comte replied, “Huh, that hard-faced harridan, it’s about time somebody took her down a peg. Go now, take your guards back to the fair and continue with your duties. I’ll take care of these vagabonds!”

Looking like an indignant beetroot, the captain marched his men off, back through the tunnel.

With open palms, the old man beckoned them forward. “Come here, my children, sit on the carpet by my chair. Pay no heed to my captain, he’s a good man, but sometimes a bit too diligent for his office.”

Seating themselves at his feet, they repeated their names one by one. The comte patted the big black Labrador. “And this is Ned, I already know him. My name is Vincente Bregon, comte of Veron, an ancient and useless title these days. I like pears, do go and pick us some, Karay.”

The girl picked five huge soft yellow pears from the nearby branches, which grew right into the gazebo window spaces. The fruit was delicious, and the old man wiped juice from his chin with a linen kerchief as he questioned them.

“So then, tell me about yourselves. You, Karay, what do you do?”

Wiping her mouth upon her sleeve, the girl replied, “I am a singer, sir, the best in all the country!”

The old fellow chuckled. “I’ll wager you are. Come on, girl, sing me a song, a happy one. I love to hear a good voice giving out a jolly air. Sing for me!”

Karay stood up, clasping her fingers at midriff height. She gave forth with a happy melody.

“Oh what care I for faces long,

Or folk so melancholy,

If they cannot enjoy my song,

Then fie upon their folly.

Small birds trill happy in the sky,

They never stop to reason why,

And as for me, well nor do I,

It costs nought to be jolly.

Sing lero lero lero lay,

Come smile with me, we’ll sing today

A merry tune or roundelay,

All of our cares will float away,

With no need to sound sorry!”

As the last sweet notes hung on the noontide air, the comte wiped his kerchief across his eyes and sniffed. “Pay me no heed, child. Your song and fine voice gladden my heart, though my eyes have a will of their own. Now, Ben, what particular talent have you to display, eh?”

From where he was sitting, Ben looked up into the kindly old man’s face. “Me, sir? I don’t do anything in particular, Ned and I are just friends of these two. We don’t sing like Karay, or sketch like Dominic.”

The comte patted Ben’s head affectionately. “They’re very lucky to have friends like you and Ned. Friendship is the greatest gift one person can give to another. Tell me, Dominic, what sort of things do you sketch?”

“The features of people, sir,” Dominic replied. “I am known as a facemaker.”

Patting his wispy hair and smoothing his beard, the comte held his chin up. “Do you think you could picture my likeness?”

Dominic took a piece of parchment, charcoal and chalks from his satchel, and looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the carpet. “You have an interesting face, sir, I’ve been saving this parchment for a good subject. Lower your chin and look down at me, sir.”

A golden afternoon rolled slowly by while Dominic sketched leisurely, taking his time not to miss any detail in the comte’s lined features. Ned stretched out and took a comfortable nap. Karay wandered off around the garden, admiring the flowers and the mullioned windows of the stately manor. Ben sat on one of the open windowsills, breathing the fragrant air cooled by running water and laden with the heady scent of blossoms. Somewhere nearby, a mistle thrush warbled a hymn to the cloudless blue sky. Bees hummed a muted accompaniment to the bird’s song, while a butterfly, all iridescent blue and purple, landed on his shirtfront and perched there with wings spread wide. A calm serenity pervaded Ben’s mind. This was a world away from storm-torn seas, the Flying Dutchman and Captain Vanderdecken. Memories of his buccaneering days and of poor Raphael Thuron seemed to be a dream of the distant past. His eyes were slowly closing when Dominic announced, “There! I think I’ve captured your likeness pretty well, sir.”

Karay came in from the garden, Ned woke up and Ben went across to see the result of the facemaker’s art. All five gazed at the picture, which the old nobleman held in his trembling hands—it was Vincente Bregon, comte of Veron, to the very life, and far beyond that. Every line and crow’s-foot wrinkle, every time-silvered hair of beard and head were startlingly lifelike.

The old man’s voice quivered as he spoke. “The eyes! Tell me, young one, what did you see in my eyes?”

Dominic pondered his answer before replying. “I saw wisdom, sir, but also the loss and grief of a man who once was happy, now turned to loneliness and resignation. Do you wish me to continue, sir?”

The comte shook his head wearily. “I know the rest, what need to tell an old man of the anguish he has lived with so long.”

Ben reached out and touched the comte’s cheek. “Then why don’t you tell us, sir? Maybe ‘twould do you good to talk. We’ll listen, we’re your friends.”

The comte blinked. He stared at them like a man awakening from a dream. “Yes, you are my friends! I feel as if you were sent here, to listen and to help me!”

Carefully, he rolled the parchment up and offered it to Ned. “Take this, but go lightly with it. I will have this picture framed and hung in my house.” Ned took the scrolled sketch gently in his mouth.

As he held out both hands, the old fellow’s voice took on a new briskness. “Now, my young friends, help me up, let me lean on your strong arms. We will go indoors. There’s good food inside—I never knew children that couldn’t eat well. You shall hear my story after you have dined.”

It was a house of great splendour, with silk hangings, suits of armour and ancient weapons decorating the walls. The comte disregarded their curiosity and took his newfound friends straight into the kitchen. There he bade them sit at a large, well-scrubbed pine table amid the surroundings of cookery and serving equipment. Shelves loaded with plates, drinking vessels and tureens ranged all around; copper pans, pots and cauldrons hung from the oak-beamed rafters. Their host sat with them. Rapping on the tabletop, he called querulously, “Mathilde, is there nobody here to serve a hungry man a bite of food, eh?”

An enormously fat old lady, bursting with energy, came bustling in, wiping chubby hands on a huge apron. She retorted sharply to his request. “Hah, hungry, are we? Can’t take meals at proper times like civilised folk. Oh no, just wait until ‘tis poor Mathilde’s time for a nap, then march in here shouting your orders!”

Her master’s eyes twinkled as he argued back at her. “Cease cackling like a market goose, you old relic. Bring food for me and my young friends here, and be quick about it!”

Ben hid a smile—he could tell that the pair were lifelong friends, that this was just a game they were playing with each other.

Mathilde the cook folded her arms and glared fiercely at the young people, curling her lip. “Friends, you say? They look like the rakings and scrapings of some robber gypsy band. I’d lock up my silverware if they entered my house. Is that a black wolf you’ve got sitting on my nice clean chair? Wait while I go and get a musket to shoot it with!”

Ned looked at Ben and passed a message. “I hope she’s only joking. That old lady looks dangerous to me!”

The comte returned her glare and shouted in a mock rough tone. “I’ll fetch a musket and shoot you if food doesn’t get here soon, you turkey-wattled torment!”

Mathilde managed to stifle a grin as she shot back at him, “Torment yourself, you dry old grasshopper carcass. I suppose I’d better get that food, before the wind snaps you in two and blows you away!”

When Mathilde had departed, Karay took a fit of the giggles. “Oh, sir, d’you always shout at each other in that dreadful way?”

The old man smiled. “Always. She’s the dearest lady in all the world, though she rules my household as if I were a naughty child. I don’t know what I’d do without my Mathilde.”

The food, when it arrived, was excellent: a basin of the local cream cheese, some onion soup, a jug of fresh milk, peasant bread and a raisin cake with almonds on it. Mathilde served them, muttering under her breath about being murdered in her bed by beggars and vagabonds. She recoiled in mock horror when Ned licked her cheek, fleeing the kitchen before being, as she put it, torn to pieces by the wolf in her own kitchen.

After an extremely satisfying meal, the friends sat back and listened to their host unfolding his narrative. Drawing a heavy gold seal ring from his finger, the comte placed it on the table. “This seal carries the crest of my family—it is carved with a lion for strength, a dove for peace, and a knotted rope for union, or togetherness. The family of Bregon have always tried to live by these principles. We have held these lands for countless ages, trying to live right and taking care of all under our protection. I was the elder son of two born to my parents, but I had the misfortune of never being married. I was the scholar—once I had ambitions to enter a monastery and become a monk, though nothing ever came of it. My younger brother was far more popular than I. Edouard was a big man, very strong, and skilful with all manner of weapons. When our parents passed on, we ruled Veron together, But Edouard left all the affairs of the village and the management of this house to me. He would go off on adventures, sometimes not coming home for long periods of time. One day he rode off south, alone. Edouard loved adventuring. He went toward the Spanish border, into the Pyrenees, intending to hunt. Whilst he was in the mountains, he suffered an accident, a fall from his horse, which left him unconscious, with a head wound. My brother was found, though, and was taken in by a powerful family called the Razan.”

Dominic leaned forward, his voice incredulous. “The Razan!”

The old man’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, my young friend, so you have heard of the Razan?”

Dominic nodded vigorously. “Over the mountains, in the Spanish town of Sabada, where I come from, folk talked of little else. Honest men would make the sign of the cross at the very mention of their name. When horses or cattle went missing, sometimes even people, everyone would whisper that it was the work of the Razan. Mothers would use their name to frighten naughty children. ‘The Razan will get you!’ Yet nobody really knew who they were. Our priest said that they were evil magicians from Algiers who knew the dark ways of wizards and witches. But I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir, please carry on with your story.”

Stroking his wispy beard, the comte continued. “One hears all manner of tales about the Razan; some say they are from Africa, others, from the mountains of Carpathia. I think a lot of these things are fables, put about by the Razan themselves to instill fear in ignorant peasants. I myself have had reports of them putting spells on folk, turning men, women and children into fishes, beasts or birds. They prey on superstition and rule simple minds by terror of the unknown.”

Returning the signet ring to his index finger, the aged nobleman sighed. “My brother, Edouard, was frightened of nothing. Whilst he was being nursed by the Razan—who must have known who he was, or they would have slain him just for his horse and weapons—Edouard was smitten with love for a Razan girl. She was the only daughter of the Razan, and very beautiful. Ruzlina, for that was her name, would have none attending Edouard but herself. Her mother, Maguda, must have seen the possibilities of allowing them to be together. It would be an easy, and legal, way for the Razan to gain a foothold in Veron, a village they had long coveted. Together, Ruzlina and Edouard went through a form of ceremony that passes for marriage among the Razan. He brought his new bride back here when he was fully recovered. How that girl had lived among such a wicked brood as the Razan, I’ll never know. She was honest, true and gentle-natured—I could readily understand why my brother had fallen in love with her. They both lived happily in this place for nigh on two years.

“Then tragedy struck the house of Bregon.” Here the comte paused, as if finding it difficult to continue.

Ned went to him, laying his head on the old man’s lap and gazing up at him with soft, sympathetic eyes as he contacted Ben. “The poor fellow, see the sorrow in his face?”

Ben nodded and placed a gentle hand on their host’s shoulder. “Tragedy, sir?”

Dabbing his eyes with a kerchief, the comte explained. “Ruzlina died giving birth to her first child. It was a son. Edouard was so stricken with grief that he could not bear to look upon the child. He locked himself away in his chambers. Mathilde and I cared for the newborn baby, christened Adamo. It was a sad household, my young friends, full of sorrow and mourning, as if a light had gone from all our lives. Then, not more than three days after Ruzlina’s death, her kin, Maguda the mother and four of her brothers, appeared as if by magic on the steps of this house. I have never beheld a more sinister or barbaric-looking woman than Maguda Razan—she was the very picture of a witch. Dressed in black weeds of mourning, with her face painted in strange symbols, she pounded upon my door with her staff. Edouard would not leave his rooms to talk or even look upon her. She claimed the body of her daughter to take back to the mountains for burial in the Razan family vault. I could not refuse her this request. But it was her other demand that I could not bring myself to grant. She wanted little Adamo!”

Dominic stared at the old man anxiously. “You didn’t let her have him, did you, sir?”

A defiant glimmer entered the comte’s eyes. “No! I would not give up a newborn infant to murderous robbers, never! Maguda and her brothers departed with Ruzlina’s body in a casket. The brothers were silent, but Maguda Razan screamed like a wounded tigress. She called down all manner of curses upon Edouard, me and the house of Bregon. The villagers were so frightened that they ran away and hid. She made smoke and fire appear from the air, yelling vengeance and death, blaming my brother for the loss of her daughter. Then the Razan were gone—they vanished, leaving behind only smoke clouds and burning ashes.”

Karay could not help but ask, “So was that the end of it, sir?”

Shaking his head, the aged nobleman answered her. “No, child, that was only the start. Bregon was plagued by thefts and fires and all kinds of wicked doings. No matter how I barred the gates or stationed guards on the walls, the Razan would find their way in. However, I surrounded this house with armed men—I would not give up my nephew, Adamo.”

Ben smiled. “I wager you were very fond of him, sir.”

The comte resorted to wiping his eyes; his voice went husky. “Fond? The child meant more to me than life itself. He was raven-haired and dark of eye. Even as a baby, Adamo had a huge physique, strong and big-boned. But he was a calm child, very very silent. He never cried, or laughed out loud, or even chuckled. Doctors looked at him and assured me that he had the power of speech, that he was not born mute. Yet he never made a sound—well, hardly. Sometimes he would call Mathilde ‘ ‘Tilde,’ poor little fellow. My brother Edouard could not bear to be in his own son’s presence, can you imagine that?”

Ben felt he had to ask the question. “What became of Edouard?”

The comte turned the ring on his finger. “This ring belonged to Edouard. He wore it on his little finger, yet it is far too large for my index finger. This will give you an indication of his size. However, he was brought down by a single sip of wine. It was the work of the Razan, I’m sure of it. Somehow, one of them entered this house, got into his rooms and poisoned the wine. This took place two years to the day after his wife died. Now, let me tell you the final, and most awful, part of this sad story. On the day we buried him, Mathilde was preparing food whilst I was at the funeral. It was a bright warm afternoon, and she let little Adamo play on a rug out in the garden, where she could see him from the kitchen window. But the moment she looked away, he was gone!”

Ben spoke as the thought from Ned crossed his mind. “The Razan!”

The comte nodded, then leaned forward, resting his forehead on both hands. “That was eighteen years ago this summer. I have not seen the boy since, nor heard news of him.”

Ben felt enormous pity for the comte of Bregon, but he was slightly puzzled. “Did you not go out and search for him, sir?”

Closing his eyes wearily, the old fellow replied. “The Razan sent me a message—it appeared on an arrow, shot over the walls. If I tried to leave Bregon, they would invade it and take my village for themselves. A lock of the boy’s hair was with the note, to prove they had him. I sent out two pair of brave men. They never returned. So, now you see my dilemma. I am a prisoner in my own village, and I don’t know, after all these long years, whether Adamo is even alive!”

They sat in silence, feeling enormous sympathy for the aged nobleman’s predicament. The comte remained immobile, still with his eyes closed and both hands supporting his forehead as he leaned on the table. Faint sounds of the market fair drifted in on the sun-warmed noontide air. Outside in the garden, the thrush had been joined in song by a blackbird.

Ben communicated with Ned. “Well, now we know what the angel guided us here for. We must help this good man to get his nephew back. What d’you think, mate?”

The dog lifted his head from the old man’s lap as he answered. “Just show me a Razan and I’ll put a spell on the seat of his britches. I like this old gentleman, Ben—we must help him. I’m with you, and I’ll bet that Karay and Dom are too!”

It was Ben who broke the silence. “Do you know where the Razan make their home in the mountains, sir?”

Opening his eyes, the comte sat up straight. “The only one of our family who knew that was my brother, and he would not have found the place had not the Razan carried him there when he was injured. Edouard said that it was high in the Pyrenees, somewhere ‘twixt Viella and Monte Maladeta, not far over the Spanish border.”

Ben looked to Dominic. “Are you familiar with that area?”

Shaking his head, the facemaker replied, “Sabada, where I come from, is southwest of that region. I never travelled over that way, I’m afraid.”

The comte interrupted him. “Wait! Garath, our old family ostler and blacksmith, might know something. He and Edouard were great friends, they often talked together. Garath is one of the few I can really trust. I’ll get him.”

Ben helped the comte up. “We’ll come with you, sir, no need to tire yourself. Lend a hand here, you two!”

The facemaker and the girl were assisting the old man through the door when he halted. “Wait,” he said. Opening a heavy stone jar that stood on a shelf, he took out several rough lumps of pale brown sugar. The comte winked at Ned and whispered, “For the horses, they know me.” He thrust the sugar lumps into his dressing-gown pocket.

Garath was no longer a young man, but Ben could see that he was a fellow of great strength. He wore no shirt beneath his leather apron, and thick, corded muscle and sinew stood out on his grey-haired forearms. He had the hind leg of a roan mare locked between his knees, while he cleaned out the frog of her hoof with a small knife.

Garath looked up as they entered the sweet-horsey-smelling stall. “Come to have your bones jolted, sire? ‘Tis a fine day for it.”

“No, no, my friend, these old bones would have to spend a week in bed if I tried to sit a horse, let alone ride it.” The comte laughed. “Meet my young friends, they have a question to ask you.”

As they were introducing themselves and chatting to Garath, the mare dipped her muzzle into the old man’s pocket and snorted. The comte chuckled. “Are you stealing my sugar, Madame? Come out of there and I’ll give you some, eh, and a bit for my good friend Ned also. There you are!”

As the horse and the dog crunched sugar happily, the comte explained his visit to Garath. “My young friends want to know whether my brother ever told you anything about the location where the Razan have their den.”

Patting the mare’s well-brushed flank, the blacksmith nodded. “Monsieur Edouard said something of it once. High up in the border peaks, he said. In Spain, someplace ‘twixt Viella and Maladeta—wild country!”

Ben flicked the mop of tow-coloured hair from his brow. “We already know that, sir. Was there nothing else you can recall—any small detail that might help?”

Garath went over to pat the withers of a hefty grey, which the comte was feeding sugar to. “Hmm, let me see. Oh, aye, there was something he said, it comes back to me now. The men hunting wild boar. He said that was the last thing that he saw before he passed out from his accident. Men hunting wild boar. Then he said that he would know the spot where the Razan stronghold was if he could only find the place where the men were hunting the boar. Then he seemed to forget what he was talking about and wandered off. ‘Twas the injury to Monsieur Edouard’s head, you know. He was never quite the same after that fall from his horse.”

Karay looked disappointed. “That is all you can remember?”

The blacksmith shrugged. “Marm, ‘twas all he said, he never spoke of it again after that day, and I never asked him.”

Dominic stepped in and presented the blacksmith with a sketch he had made whilst the man was talking to them. The facemaker had done it with charcoal, on an old cask lid he had found lying about.

Garath looked at his own likeness on the wooden lid and bowed slightly. “My thanks to ye, sir, though I think you made me a bit too handsome in this picture. Do I really look like that?”

Dominic nodded emphatically. “Indeed you do, Garath, but that’s not good looks I portrayed, it’s honesty and hard work.”

The comte inspected the likeness, commenting as Garath turned away, his cheeks reddening at the old man’s compliment: “An honest man is hard to find. This is a true picture of you, Garath. See the eyes, they reflect truth and the long, faithful service you have given my family.”

The blacksmith bowed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you and your friends more, sire.”

Evening shades were starting to fall as they sat in the comte’s parlour, sipping cold fruit juice. The old man was giving orders to Mathilde. “There will be five for dinner tonight— make sure there is plenty for these young ones at the table. Oh, and tell Hector to air out the beds in the guest rooms.”

Mathilde gave Ned a wide berth as she trundled out, muttering under her breath about being eaten out of house and home by gypsies and savages.

Karay wriggled with excitement as she addressed the comte. “D’you mean we can sleep in real beds in this big house? That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ve never slept in a real bed before!”

The old man’s eyes twinkled briefly. “You’ll soon get used to it, child, and the boys also. I like good company around my gloomy old house, so stay as long as you wish.”

Ben shook his head regretfully. “I wish we could, sir, but if we are to find Adamo, we’d best leave tomorrow.”

The aged nobleman’s face was suddenly serious. “Thank you for your offer, lad, but it is far too dangerous. Besides, what makes you think that you could find my nephew?”

Ben explained. “We are strangers to Veron, everyone saw us arrested by your guards, sir. My friends and I don’t look exactly like visiting royalty, do we? Look at us, four poor travellers. Even Mathilde said we look like thieves and gypsies. What better cover could we have? Nobody would suspect us of being your agents. We could wander anywhere at will—who’d pay much attention to us?”

The comte stared into Ben’s haunting blue eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but the moment I saw you and Ned, Karay and Dominic being brought into my garden today, I had a strange feeling that things were about to happen.”

Dominic spoke earnestly. “We will help you, sir, I’m sure of it. Put your trust in us and we’ll prove our friendship.”

The old man looked from one to the other. “You have a plan?”

Ben was about to say that they had no plan, but they would think one up, when Ned’s thoughts claimed his attention. “Listen to me, mate. Repeat what I’m thinking to the old fellow, here’s my plan…”

Ben repeated Ned’s thoughts aloud to the comte. “Let everyone think we’ve been thrown in prison over the business on the steps. We’ll stay here until Monday, when the fair’s over. Though we’ll have to keep our heads down, it wouldn’t be wise to let word get about that we’re houseguests and not prisoners. When the fair ends, have your guards drive us from Veron with lots of loud warnings that we’re lucky to be set free from the lockup.”

The comte scratched his beard. “But why such an elaborate charade? Wouldn’t you be better merely slipping away at dawn?”

Ben continued translating his dog’s thoughts. “No no, sir, we want people to think that we’re a bunch of no-goods. If, as you say, the Razan can appear in secret, then I’ll wager there’s some of them among the fair’s visitors. We’ll be in a much better position if they think we are villains like them!”

Karay gave Ben a sly nudge and winked at him. “Very good! You’re not such a bumpkin as I thought you were, Ben. How did you think of a plan like that?”

The strange boy shrugged. “Oh, it wasn’t my idea, it was Ned’s!”

The black Labrador huffed indignantly at their laughter. “Huh! What’s so funny? My brain’s as good as any human’s. Better than some, I’m certain!”

Dominic tugged Ned’s tail playfully. “Good thinking, fellow, you’d make a fine robber’s dog!”

The comte grew serious once more. “Are you sure you want to do this, my friends? You’ll be putting yourselves in great peril.”

Ben took their host’s hand. “What sort of folk would we be if we couldn’t help a friend like you, sir? Don’t worry, we’ll find Adamo and bring him back safely to you.”

The old man was forced to resort to wiping his eyes again. “My children, if you could do this, you would earn my eternal gratitude!”

19

MAGUDA RAZAN and her followers lived in caves high in the Pyrenees on the Spanish side of the border. Maguda trusted no man and considered the women of the caves to be inferior beings, senseless baggages who lusted after silks and jewellery. Maguda Razan had eyes that held mysterious powers and was feared by those who served her, any of whom she could bend to her will. An awesome array of potions, scents, powders and spells, coupled with her hypnotic gaze, made her absolute ruler of her rocky domain. Widowed in her younger days, she relied on her four brothers for knowledge of the outside world. They were sombre, close-mouthed men and proficient assassins.

Lesser caves and tortuous passages ran into the mountains, all terminating at the main cavern where Maguda held court deep in the heart of her stone world. It was a vast cavern, furnished to strike terror into the very soul of ignorant thieves and impressionable peasants. Silent as the grave, it had the likenesses of many sinister idols carved into the walls: men with the bodies of reptiles and ferocious beasts, women with multiple limbs and cruel staring eyes, each image with a different-coloured fire burning at its base. Sulphurous yellow, blood red, oily black and many other hues of hellfire. Together they created a noxious cloud that hung beneath the cavern ceiling like a pall. Amid a welter of long-dead and stuffed creatures, Maguda Razan sat on a fabulous throne, which was said to have come from the palace of an emir. It was draped in skins of all manner and decorated with beads. Maguda Razan could barely reach its arms with her hands outstretched. She sat like a venomous spider at the centre of a web. Small, and clad in wispy wraps of black, blue and puce, she had hair that stood out from her head in a crown of dyed orange, streaked with steely grey roots. Between the deep-etched lines of her face, dark, cabalistic tattoos overlaid her bloodless skin. But it was the eyes of Maguda Razan that fascinated the onlooker—restless pinpoints of deep light shining out of muddy yellowed pupils, never still, always restlessly searching back and forth like a questing cobra.

A man knelt before her, backed by a Razan brother. He was weeping helplessly. Maguda’s head never moved as her eyes slanted down toward him. Her voice a sibilant whisper, questioning, probing.

“Why did ye hold back the necklace which was with the loot from Port Vendres? Tell me, Luiz.”

Always keeping his eyes averted from her, Luiz sobbed. “Madame Razan, it was nought but a cheap trinket. I knew my woman liked such things, it was worthless!”

Maguda Razan’s voice sounded reasonable. “Worthless or not, it belonged to the Razan. Where is this necklace now?”

One of the brothers held it up. It was indeed a cheap thing: small beads woven on several strands to represent a snake.

One of Maguda’s incredibly long-nailed fingers moved, pointing. “Put it on his neck, hold up his head, so I can see him.”

Fastening the necklace on Luiz, the brother seized a handful of the man’s hair and pulled his head back. Luiz found himself staring directly into the eyes of Maguda.

Her voice was like a sliver of ice sliding across oiled silk. “Look at me, gaze long at my eyes… long… long… long! I will not hurt thee, Luiz. The snake which ye stole from me is brightly coloured. Did ye know that such snakes are always deadly? Was it not one such snake that took the life of Egypt’s queen long long ago? Can ye feel it, thief, pulling its coils tight around thy worthless neck? Seeking out a vein. A place to sink small fangs into…”

Both of Maguda’s hands rose, fingers curved like claws, her voice rising to a shriek. “Thou art dead! Dead!”

Blood suffused the man’s face as he clapped a hand to the side of his throat, gurgled horribly and fell over sideways. His legs kicked convulsively, and his back arched. Then he went limp. Lifeless.

Maguda’s voice rang out, flat and callous. “Take yon necklace off him, give it to his woman!”

The brother reached out, then hesitated. Her tone turned to one of contempt. “It won’t bite thee, ‘tis only a cheap necklace. Take it off!”

Gingerly the brother obeyed. Maguda watched him scathingly. “See his neck, there’s not a mark on it. Imagination, ‘tis all it was, yon fool died because of his own stupid imagination!”

Her brother took the necklace and slunk off, murmuring under his breath. “Imagination, and those eyes of yours, sister, that’s what the man died from!”

Much to his surprise, her voice followed him, echoing around the cavern and its surrounding passages. ‘Aye, thou art right, brother, but beware, mine ears are as sharp as mine eyes. Nothing escapes Maguda Razan!” He broke into a run, dashing past the eldest of his brothers, who was on his way to see Maguda.

She watched the man enter her cavern, noting the flicker of fear in his eyes as he skirted the spot where the dead thief lay. Her voice halted the eldest brother even before he reached the throne. “Tell me of thy visit to Veron market fair. What news of Comte Bregon? Think hard and speak true, Rawth!”

The eldest brother of the Razan, Rawth, made his report. “I never saw the old man, they say he never leaves the house.”

Maguda let out a hiss of exasperation. “I know that, but did any come or go from there, new faces, strangers?”

Rawth shook his head. “Only some young ‘uns, who were arrested for not paying their toll and for Unlicenced trading.”

Maguda’s fingernails rattled as she smote the throne arm. “Tell me of them! Didst thou not hear me say I want to hear all?”

Rawth had not heard his sister say any such thing, but he was not prepared to argue—he had seen what happened to any who contradicted Maguda. “I saw three of them being led off by the guards. They are probably in the dungeons now. Two of them were boys, one about fourteen summers, light-haired, blue-eyed, the other about the same age, handsome, Spanish-looking. The girl looked older than the boys, but not by much— she was of gypsy blood, I think. A pleasant singer she was, I heard her sing. She was on the house steps, drumming up trade for the Spanish boy to make likenesses of folk.”

He stood silent as Maguda mused aloud. “A facemaker, eh? What of the other boy, the blue-eyed one?”

Rawth shrugged. “Oh, him, he did little but stand around with his dog—”

Maguda interrupted her brother. “Dog? Ye said nothing of a dog. What manner of animal was it, tell me!”

Rawth described Ned. “Of the breed they call Labrador. A big creature, black ‘twas. Why do ye ask?”

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. “A black dog, that could be an omen. Send watchers to wait outside the wall of Veron until these young ones are released. I need to know more about them, which direction they go in. Leave me now, I need to be alone, to think.”

When Rawth had departed, Maguda took up a staff and rose from her throne. Leaning heavily on the staff, she visited each of the stone idols around the cavern’s edge, throwing coloured incense upon the fires at the feet of the statues and muttering to herself as the smoke billowed up to thicken beneath the high ceiling. After a while she went back to the throne. Using a human skull on the seat beside her as a centrepiece, Maguda Razan cast bones, pebbles and striped stone fragments over the grisly crown of the skull. Watching which way they fell, she chanted in a high, singsong voice,

“Earth and water, wind and fire,

Speak to me as I desire.

Take mine eyes beyond this place,

Show to me each stranger’s face.

Spirits of the deep and dark,

This Razan hath served thee true,

Open up their hearts to me,

Say what secrets I may see,

I who bind my life to you!”

She sat awhile, contemplating the skull and its surrounding jumble of rocks and bone, her eyes closed, swaying slightly. Then Maguda Razan emitted a low moan, building up into a shriek like that of a stricken animal. It echoed round the bowels of the mountain and its caves, bringing Razan tribal members, both male and female. They halted at the cavern entrance, watching fearfully as Maguda arose from the steps where she had fallen from her throne. There was vexation and rage in her voice as she screeched at them.

“Go, all of ye! Seek out those who were imprisoned at Veron. Capture them, the two boys, one dark, one fair, the girl and the black dog. Bring them back here to me, I command ye!”

Staggering back up to the throne, she seated herself, waiting until the clatter of departing feet retreated into silence. Petulance and ill temper showed in her sneer. Unable to bear looking upon her equipment of sorcery, Maguda swept it away. Skull, stones and bones tumbled down the stairs. Landing upright, the skull lay grinning sightlessly up at her. Maguda spat at it. Her vision had been thwarted. She had been granted a glimpse of the Flying Dutchman—but only a glimpse. The sight of evil she delighted revelling in had been cut short. The fair-skinned boy, he who owned the black dog—she would see all of the Dutchman in his eyes. Maguda Razan quivered with anticipation. She would bring the boy under her power when she had him alone, and then … then.

Rain began falling from an overcast sky on the afternoon of the fair’s end. Folk began packing up stalls and wares to leave early before a downpour set in. Hidden beneath hooded cloaks and equipped with packs of food, Ben and his friends stood at the grilled gate by the tunnel door.

Comte Vincente Bregon gave Ned a final pat, and kissed Karay’s cheek and embraced the two boys. “Go now, young friends, this rain will provide cover for you. Garath, take them as far as the gates—you know what to do. Nobody must know you were my guests and not prisoners. Let us hope when we meet again the sun will be shining and we will be smiling. May the Lord protect and keep you from harm!”

Not many people lingered to see them marched to the gates by the good blacksmith, though the few who were witness to the scene saw Garath crack his whip over the heads of the freed prisoners and warn them sternly, “Gypsies, thieves, be off with you! Thank your lucky stars my master was in a lenient mood. Go on, get out of Veron! If you are ever seen within the walls again, you will be tied to a cart and whipped all the way to the Spanish border!”

Ned barked as Garath cracked the whip several times, then the big black dog hurried out of the village in the wake of his companions.

Ben squinted his eyes against the increasing rain as he looked toward the mountains. “We’d best cut off southeast through the forested slopes. It’ll give us some protection from this weather!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance as they squelched off across the grassy slopes outside the walls of Veron. Dominic looked back at the remainder of the market traders setting off in other ways to go to their homes.

Karay called out to him, “Come on, Facemaker, keep up! Don’t be lagging behind!”

As he caught up with the others, the girl gave him a scathing glance. “What were you gaping at those bumpkins for—fresh faces to sketch? You might as well draw pictures of turnips as of those tight-fisted clods!”

Dominic noticed that Ned was watching the departing traders, too. “You’d do well to take a lesson from Ned and me. Take a peek at those folk yourself, see how many are watching us, and then tell me: How many of them are ordinary people, and how many are Razan spies, watching which way we’re headed?”

Ned passed Ben a thought. “Wide awake, mate, that’s me and Dominic. Bet you never thought of that!”

Ben answered his friend’s message aloud. “Good thinking, Dominic. Perhaps we’d best go another way, just to mislead them.”

On Ben’s advice, they cut off at a tangent that led away from the forested mountain foothills. It was late afternoon before the coast was clear. Lightning flashes lit the gloomy landscape, and thunder boomed closer, as Karay halted at a swollen stream that threaded its way out of the woods and the high country.

“I don’t know if we’d leave much trail in the rain, but no one would be able to track us through running water. Let’s wade through this stream, up into the woods.”

The three friends went knee-deep in the icy cold waters, holding hands to stay upright.

Ned followed, grumbling thoughtfully. “Huh, rained on from above and soaked from below. I’ve seen better days for trekking. At least the rain forests in South America were warm. What d’you say, mate?”

Ben gripped the black Labrador’s collar, assisting him. “Aye, nice muddy rivers full of snakes, with all manner of insects biting and stinging and tickling. Piranha fish, too, oh for the good old days. Would you trade them for this?”

Ned looked mournfully up at his friend. “Point taken!”

At twilight, hauling themselves gratefully out of the stream, they entered the trees. Karay sat down and examined her feet. “Just look at these toes, they’re blue and numb from the cold, and wrinkled like raisins!”

Dominic chuckled. “Well, it was your idea. Up you come m’lady, let’s find somewhere warm and dry. Steady on, Ned, d’you have to shake yourself all over us?”

Ned actually winked at Ben. “Bet you wish you could dry yourself like this. Us hairy old dogs have an advantage over you pale, thin-skinned humans. Superior breeding, y’know.”

Ben tweaked his dog’s ear. “Oh, I see, then I don’t suppose a superior creature like you will bother sitting around a warm fire—built by us measly humans of course?”

Apart from the constant spatter of rainfall on the treetop canopy, the forest was silent and depressingly gloomy, thickly carpeted in loam and pine needles. Hardly any rain penetrated the arboreal thickness. It was Ned who found a good spot to make camp for the night. He bounded off through the trees and returned with his tongue lolling as he passed on the message to Ben. “Haha, at least we’ll be dry until morning, I’ve found a great place! Follow me, oh weakly fellow, I’ll show you. Oh, and if you humans make a fire, I may do you the honour of sitting by it.”

It was a deep cleft in a big rocky outcrop. Ben patted his dog affectionately. “Well done, mate. It’s practically a cave!”

Dominic found some dry, dead pine needles, and setting flint to the steel of his knife, he coaxed a fire into life by blowing gently on the tinder. He peered at the rock walls. “Artists were here long before us. Look!”

Crude representations of dancing people were drawn upon the rough rock walls in black, red and ochre, stick-legged men, women and children dancing around what appeared to be a fire.

Karay piled dead wood on the flames, commenting, “I saw a cave like this once, in the D’Aubrac Mountains. A gypsy woman said the drawings were more than a thousand years old, done by tribes who were shepherds and charcoal burners. They used to live in places like these.”

As evidence they found a heap of charcoal at the cave’s narrow end. Ben and Karay piled it on the fire. It gave out a good heat and glow once it began burning. Dominic spread their cloaks on nearby rocks to dry out. Warmth seeped through their bodies, steam rising from their hair. Ben opened one of the sacks and doled out bread, smoked ham and cheese, and also a flask of pale wine laced with water.

As they ate, Dominic pointed to the wall drawings in the flickering glow. “See how the shadows play across those pictures— you’d think the people were actually dancing!”

A noise at the entrance caused Ned to stiffen, and his hackles rose as he growled. Ben passed him an urgent thought. “What is it, Ned, what’s out there?”

Glowering toward the entrance and baring his teeth, Ned replied. “A wild boar. The scent of our food must have attracted it. Maybe it lives here now, who knows? I’ll chase it!”

Karay whispered to Ben. “Something’s upsetting Ned!”

Ben caught a glimpse of narrow, savage eyes at the entrance. “I think it’s a wild boar, Ned’ll send him on his way.”

“No, keep hold of him!” Dominic hissed. “Have you seen the tusks on those things? That boar would injure a dog badly. Better leave it to me.”

He chose a thick burning pine branch from the fire and dashed toward the entrance, shouting, “Yaaaah! Gerroutofit!”

The boar grunted and snorted, half turning. When Dominic was quite close to the beast, he lashed out, striking it several hard blows with the flaming brand. The boar squealed and ran off, leaving behind an acrid smell of burnt hair. Dominic flung the blazing wood after it, still shouting. “Yaaaah! That’ll give you a hot bottom! Go on, leave us alone!”

Karay looked at him with a new respect. “That was a brave thing to do. I’d run a mile from a wild boar!”

The facemaker shrugged. “What I did was what the villagers used to do when the old boar wandered into our settlement in Sabada.”

Ned remained awake on watch that night, wary that the boar would return. Sometime after midnight, the rain ceased. Inside the cave, the fire sank to glowing embers. Ben was awakened by his dog’s quiet whimpers in the oppressive silence. He stroked the Labrador’s flank. “Are you alright, mate?”

Ned licked the boy’s hand. “I must have dozed off for a while, Ben. I could swear I saw the faces of Vanderdecken and his crew out there among the trees, watching us.”

The boy scratched the soft fur under his dog’s chin. “It’s just tiredness, Ned. Have a sleep. I’ll keep watch. Though I’m sure Vanderdecken couldn’t follow us here—he’s bound to the seas by heaven’s curse. But I know what you mean, I was having a few dreams like that myself before you woke me. Go on, take a nap, try to dream of more pleasant things.”

Ned settled his chin on his front paws, letting his eyes close. “Just as you say, Ben, but I don’t like this area, and I feel there’s more to come before we find the Razan. Oh, there’s no use trying to think different, mate. Don’t forget, I can read your thoughts, and they tell me you’re thinking the same thing. You’re scared—me too! We both are. These forests and mountains—there’s an eerie feel about them. It’s like something we’ve never come across.”

Ben watched the black Labrador as sleep overcame him. He knew, with an awful sense of foreboding, that Ned was right.

20

DAWN’S FIRST FEEBLE LIGHT CREPT INTO THE cave as Ned lay on guard near the entrance. The black Labrador was in a peculiar state of semiwakefulness, with snatches of dream still hovering about his mind. A voice that he knew was the angel’s recited distantly to him.

” ‘Tis thou who must show the way, when visions of evil arise. Others may see what ye cannot, So be guided by thine own eyes.”

Another voice chimed in. “Who’s that? Come forward and be recognised!”

Ned woke immediately, knowing that the second voice was no dream. Thankfully, it was far enough away for only a dog to hear. Ben, Karay and Dominic were still asleep. Ned slipped out to investigate as yet another voice reached his ears.

“Put up your club, ‘tis only me— Cutpurse the clown!”

Shuffling through the undergrowth on his stomach, Ned moved noiselessly forward until he found the source of the voices.

A group of ten men, clad in gypsy rags, all well armed with clubs, knives and muskets, were watching a man emerge from the trees. With the group were a ferocious-looking mastiff dog and a brown bear, both wearing spiked collars and long iron-chain leashes to restrain them. Ned’s gaze settled on the fellow who was joining them. It was the fat rogue who had imprisoned Karay. He limped miserably out of the tree cover, leaning heavily on a homemade crutch. The leader of the band, a mean-faced villain with a marked squint, sneered mockingly at the newcomer. “Hah, what happened to you, Cutpurse?”

Wincing as he laid aside his crutch, he leaned against a tree and related his tale bitterly. “I thought I’d struck lucky last week. I captured a young girl—a singer she was, with a good voice. But she had us both taken by the constables, for stealin’. We broke out o’ prison together an’ stole a cart. Then d’ye know what the young hussy did? She stole the cart an’ ran away from me!”

Ligran Razan, the group’s leader and the second eldest brother of Maguda, sniggered scornfully at Cutpurse’s plight. “Broke your leg, too, did she, ye fat greasy fool!”

Cutpurse pouted sulkily. ” ‘Twas my ankle, not the leg. I fell and broke it when I was chasin’ her.”

Ligran eyed Cutpurse with disgust. “How you ever came to be part of the Razan, I’ll never know. Pick up that crutch an’ let’s get going. Better shift yourself, we aren’t stoppin’ for any who don’t keep up. Stop pullin’ faces and whining! Come on, blubbernose!”

Ligran headed off, leaning backward against the iron chain he was grasping as the dog pulled on it, straining forward. Three others flung more chains around the bear. They dragged the wretched creature along with them, striking it with long sticks as it made piteous, muted noises of distress.

Ned waited until the coast was clear, then dashed back to the cave and nosed Ben into wakefulness. The dog imparted his mental message of all he had witnessed. Ben thought about it for a moment before answering. “Don’t wake Karay or Dominic. Let’s go outside, I’ve got an idea. Don’t worry, mate, I’ll give you full credit.”

Karay and Dominic sat up rubbing their eyes as Ned and Ben dashed back into the cave and roused them.

Dominic looked bewildered. “Where have you two been?”

Ben cautioned the facemaker, “Keep your voice down. Ned heard noises a short while ago, so I went with him to see who it could be. We saw a gang of men—I think they’re probably from the Razan tribe, rough-looking and all well armed. They had a dog and a bear with them. Oh, and guess who joined them, Karay? That fat greasy one whose ankle you whacked with his own club—he was limping heavily.”

The girl gritted her teeth angrily. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. It was you who stopped me!”

Ben held up his hand. “Don’t shout, sound can carry from here. What’s done is done. I’m glad you never slew the villain.”

Karay stuck out her lip defiantly. “He deserved to die, the slimy rat. Why should you be glad he’s alive?”

Ben explained. “Because he’s travelling with the others now. He’s injured and bound to slow them down a bit. That’ll make it easier for us to follow them. Where else would they be headed for but the Razan hideout?”

Dominic agreed. “Right. I’ll wager they can lead us to Adamo. As soon as we’ve had breakfast, we’ll pick up their trail.”

It was too dangerous to light a new fire. They broke their fast with some fruit and cheese before leaving the cave.

The previous night’s heavy rain had ceased, and the sun came out, turning the forested slopes into a dense area of steamy mist as it heated the saturated ground and trees. The friends went in single file, with Ned leading. It was not a difficult trail to follow. A dog, a bear and eleven men left plenty of tracks. It was not more than an hour before Ned heard the band up ahead. He halted and passed Ben the information. “We’d best slow down, I can hear them. Let’s not get too close, mate.”

Ben pointed to the dog. “Look at Ned’s ears—he must be able to hear them!”

Karay’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mist and fog can deaden sound. We must be very close to them. Let’s stop awhile.”

Ned passed another message to Ben. “Stay here, I’ll go ahead and see what they’re up to. Be back soon.”

Before the boy had a chance to argue, his dog had vanished into the mist. Ned moved through the trees like a dark, silent shadow. When he saw the men, he cut off left and crept along on the same course as the band, watching and listening.

Ligran Razan looked back over his shoulder. “Where’s that useless bag of blubber Cutpurse, lagging behind is he? Bring him up front here, I’ll move him!”

Two of the men dragged Cutpurse forward, stumbling and pleading. “Ow-ow-ow! Be careful of my poor ankle, will you? Ligran, leave me here to rest a bit, I’ll catch up with you later.”

A thin, cruel smile hovered about the villain’s face. “I ain’t leavin’ you anywhere, fatty. If anybody found you they’d soon have you blabberin’ where our hideout is. This’ll stop ye dawdlin’—Gurz can help you to keep in front.”

Ligran took the end of the chain on which he was holding the mastiff. Grabbing Cutpurse roughly, he hooked the chain through the fat man’s belt and secured it. “Hahaha, just try stoppin’ Gurz, an’ he’ll have ye for lunch. Hup, Gurz, hup, go on boy, off with ye!”

Cutpurse only had time to grab the chain when he was hauled forward, hopskipping, limping and staggering as the big mastiff dragged him along in its wake. “Howwoooh! No please, let me go, let me go, I’ll keep up!”

Ligran nodded. “Oh, you’ll keep up alright—Gurz’ll make sure o’ that! Come on, you lot. Let’s go, see if ye can’t make that thing move faster!”

The three men who were holding the bear’s chains jogged forward, tugging the animal along. Its collar had spikes both inside and out, and the bear made choking noises as the spikes dug into its neck. Others followed behind, striking out with whippy branches at the pitiful creature, forcing it into a fast shamble.

Ned had seen enough. He ran off, not daring to try and make mental contact with the bear, lest it unwittingly betray his presence to the men.

By midday the mists had cleared, and the sun was beating down on the mountain slopes. There was a slight dip at the woodland edge, giving way to a small valley. Behind this, the snow-capped peaks stood like massive sentinels. Ben and his friends hid in the tree fringes, watching the Razan band below in the valley. They had camped by a clear mountain lake and lit a fire. Two of the men were cooking up oatmeal and maize porridge in a cauldron over the flames. It was served out to the members of the robber band as they sat about, eating and calling out to one another. Ben could hear them clearly from where he lay hidden.

The fat Cutpurse lay exhausted near the lake shallows, his injured foot immersed in the water. He was still chained to Gurz, the big mastiff, evidently terrified of the ferocious brute, which sat growling by his side. Ligran took a ladle of the steaming mush from the cauldron. He slopped half of it on the ground and watched Gurz lap it up.

Stirring Cutpurse with a light kick, Ligran grinned. “I’d better feed him or he’ll eat that ankle o’ yours. What’s the matter, Cutpurse, got no bowl with ye? Oh, well, you’ll just have to eat yours the way it comes.”

He poured the other half of the porridge from the ladle straight onto the fat man’s jerkin. The rest of the robbers guffawed at the look on Cutpurse’s face. Ligran smiled. “Stop moanin’ and eat it up before it gets cold!”

Cutpurse was about to dip his fingers in the warm porridge when Gurz snarled at him. He pulled his hand back and lay terror-stricken. Having finished his own portion, the mastiff stood over the frightened man and began lapping up the porridge that lay in a glutinous puddle on the thief’s stomach.

Ligran was laughing uproariously at the spectacle, when one of the bear’s handlers called out, “Ligran, d’ye want me to feed this thing?”

The leader went and refilled the ladle from the cauldron. “He’s supposed to be a dancin’ bear, let’s see him dance for his supper. Come on, bear, dance! Up off your hunkers an’ dance!”

Ben turned away from the scene below. “I can’t watch any more of this. What makes those people so cruel and callous?”

Dominic turned to face him. “They’re Razan. Murder, thieving, cruelty and wickedness is a way of life to them. That’s how they’ve become so strong and feared by ordinary folk.”

Karay watched for a moment, then she, too, turned away, brushing a hand across her moist eyes. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Oh, that poor bear! If I get even the slightest chance I’m going to free him. I promise I will!”

Listening to the bear’s muted sounds of anguish, Ned looked at Ben. “I’ll free him, too, if I can, the poor old thing!”

It was noon before the Razan broke camp and moved on. Ben and his friends had to stay where they were hidden until the Razan left the valley and circled away out of sight around the mountain’s base. On reaching the lake, they stood at its edge, looking up at the mighty rocks ahead of them.

Dominic shaded his eyes against the sun. “They went off around that jagged bit up there—we’d best follow right now. If we lose sight of them, it’ll be difficult tracking over bare rock.”

It was not too hard mounting the side of the valley. By midafternoon they had reached the jagged rock that Dominic had pointed out. Loose rock scree dotted with growths of avens and horseshoe vetch seemed to spread all over the area.

Karay shrugged as she looked around. “Which way now?”

Ned took a good sniff around, then passed Ben a thought. “Follow me, I could smell that big stinky mastiff a mile off!”

The black Labrador trotted off into the larger shale, which looked like the up-jutting teeth of some dead primeval monster. The others followed him, leaping from crag to crag. Ned paused, his ears rising.

Ben heard the dog’s thought. “Aye, that’s them, up a bit and to the right!”

Night fell swiftly in the high places as late afternoon, twilight, then dusk followed one another in fast succession. The scree and shale gave way to smooth, unyielding rock. Laboriously, they trekked up a winding path, feeling carefully for safe places to set their feet. A wind sprang up, harsh and chilling.

Cupping her hands, Karay blew warmth into them and sniffed. “We’d better look for somewhere to shelter. I’ll bet that lot of villains ahead of us have made camp by now.”

The best they could find was a dry bracken bed beneath an overhanging rock. It was not at all comfortable, being open to the winds on both sides. Karay sat down dejectedly. “This’ll have to do, I suppose. There’s no caves round about.”

Dominic took out his knife and began cutting bracken. “I’ll show you what hunters do up in the high places. Gather as much bracken as you can, and pile it up against the rock here.” By the time they had gathered enough bracken, their hands were numb with cold. Dominic lit the bracken, directing them to sit facing the blaze, close together, with their cloaks around them forming a shelter. Ned squidged in between Ben and Karay as the facemaker explained: “With the rock overhanging us and our cloaks acting as a shield, the firelight glow will be hidden.”

Ben warmed his hands gratefully. “I shouldn’t think even the Razan would be out on a night like this. We’re pretty safe here. Wait while I dig some food out.”

They ate cheese and some of the ham with a loaf of bread. Dominic broke open the loaf, then toasted it over the fire and divided it into four. It tasted very good.

Night closed in around the four figures crouched around their fire on the bleak mountainside. The bracken did not last long, as it was brittle and burned quickly.

Dominic tossed his toasting twig into the embers. “We’re in for a cold night. ‘Tis a pity there isn’t any wood hereabouts—all the forestland’s far below us now.”

Karay shivered. “My back is freezing. That wind seems to go right through these cloaks!”

Ben rose and trampled the fire embers flat, until the spot was just a warm patch of ground. “There’s nothing more to burn, mates, so let’s sit on the ground with our backs against the rock. It might help a bit.”

When they had settled themselves and huddled together, Ned climbed over Ben and lay in front of Karay. “There! That’ll keep her warm. Ben, I can hear somebody coming this way. Quick, tell our pals to duck under the cloaks and keep very still!”

Ben whispered to the other two, “Someone’s coming. Let’s throw the cloaks over our heads and keep quiet!”

Ned shuffled back and got under the front of Karay’s cloak. A moment later, the tap of a staff end hitting the rock became audible. Ned had been right—someone was coming. Ben peeked through an open fold of his cloak, covering his mouth so that his breath would not mist out into the open.

It was an old woman, bent almost double—whether it was from old age or the heavy jumble of tattered shawls, scarves and blankets draped across her back, Ben could only guess. She leaned for support on a tall pole from which the bark had been peeled, making the wood appear stark white. She halted not far from where the travellers lay hidden, then slowly she turned until she was facing them.

Ben caught his breath, then immediately relaxed. The old crone was blind. She wore a dark strip of cloth bound about her eyes. He caught Ned’s thought. “She can’t see us, mate, though I’ve never seen a woman who looked more like a witch in my life!”

Ben stared at the old one. He had to agree with the dog: her face was like a bundled-up and creased parchment with hairs sprouting from odd bumps all over it. Above her shrunken, toothless mouth a hooked nose practically touched an uptilted chin. Truly the image of a witch. When she spoke, her voice was wheezy and shrill. “Are ye friend or enemy?”

They kept silent, scarcely daring to breathe. She swung the staff. Ben felt the whoosh of air as it whipped by, inches from his face.

The hag took a pace forward, calling out, “I am Gizal, friend of the Razan. I know ye are there. Speak.”

The friends held their silence. Gizal cackled nastily. “A touch of my staff can turn folk into bats, toads or worms. So, my children, if ye speak not, I will cast a great spell on thee. ‘Tis the last chance I’ll give you. Now speak!”

Dominic felt Karay’s hand grasp his beneath the cloaks. The hag took another pace forward and grasped the staff tight in both her clawlike hands, swinging out as hard as she could. Thock! The wooden pole struck the rock, sending a shock through the hag’s body and stinging her hands into numbness. She fell backward, letting go of the staff and wailing with pain. “Nnnnnyyyaaahhh! Yeeeeeeehhh!”

Ben clasped his hand over those of Dominic and Karay, urging them to remain quiet.

Gizal rolled about, clutching her clenched fists to her mouth in agony and making a noise as if she were humming. “Mmmmmmmm!”

After a while she pulled herself up onto her knees and started crawling about, arms outstretched as she searched for her fallen staff. It had dropped between Ben and Karay, one end up against the rock, the other end on the ground. Gizal blundered forward, her hands grasping the air as she came closer to them. Ned took a chance. Poking his head from the cloak, he butted the pole outward. It toppled, striking the old woman’s shoulder. Instinctively she grabbed it. Slowly she hauled herself upright, hissing viciously through her shrivelled lips.

“I curse thee to the pit of Eblis and the fires of the damned! Ravens shall pick over thy bones and maggots devour thy flesh whilst thou art still alive and praying for death!”

She shuffled laboriously off into the night, still muttering the direst of curses and predicting unthinkable ends for the four companions.

They waited quite a while before anyone ventured to speak. It was Ben who finally broke the silence. “Whew! She’s got a very nasty mouth on her for an old lady.”

Karay sounded nervous. “She looked just like a witch— maybe she can really curse folk.”

Dominic laughed. “You don’t believe in all that old rubbish, do you? Huh, I wish we had some of those hellfires she was raving about here right now. At least we could get warm from them, eh, Ben?”

The boy stood up, stamping life back into his cold feet. ‘Aye, right, Dom. Don’t worry about some old biddy’s curses, Karay. I’ve been cursed at much worse than that, and look, I’m still here. Ned, too!”

The dog’s thoughts cut in on Ben. “We may be here, but I think we’d be better off somewhere else. That old Gizal is bound to run into the Razan gang up ahead. No matter how quiet we kept, she knew we were here. If she tells the Razan, I’ll bet they’ll send men to search us out. I don’t think they take kindly to being followed.”

Ben mentally thanked Ned and suggested to his friends that they needed to find somewhere else for the remainder of the night. They broke camp hurriedly.

Further up the mountain, Ligran Razan sat beneath a canvas awning, cooking goat meat over a fire and listening to Gizal’s story. He gave her wine and a few of the roasted goat ribs to pick on as he weighed the situation. Gizal was respected among the Razan hierarchy—it was not considered wise to ignore her words. Ligran kicked out at a man lounging nearby. “Rouge, you an’ Domba take Gurz. Track back down the mountain an’ see if ye can capture whoever ‘twas hidin’ out there.”

Gizal butted in. “There’d be two, mayhap three, and a dog. I’m sure I could smell dog. Look ye for young ones, their breathing was gentle, not noisy like grown folk.”

Rouge, a big redheaded ruffian, clasped the chain to the mastiff’s collar. “Gurz’ll sniff ‘em out, never fret, Gizal. Me an’ Domba will give the brats a good slappin’ before we drag ‘em back here. If they’ve got a dog, so much the better, look at Gurz there. Eh, boy, ‘tis a long time since you had a whole dog to yerself for dinner, eh?”

Domba jerked the lead, coaxing a snarl from the big ugly mastiff. Both men picked up their long knives and set off, with Gurz sniffing noisily at the ground as he tugged them along.

Gizal gulped wine greedily, falling into a fit of coughing before she turned her face to Ligran. “So then, how is thy bear behaving himself on his way home?”

Ligran took a burning piece of pinewood from the fire. He threw it at the bear, who was bound to a rock by iron chains. The animal gave a frightened moan as the burning wood bounced off its paw.

Ligran chuckled. “I’ve a feeling ye took all the runnin’ out o’ that one. I’m teaching him to dance now. Maguda will enjoy that—she’s never had a dancin’ bear to amuse her.”

21

BEN KNEW HE HAD PICKED THE WRONG direction to search for a camp. The path he had chosen narrowed as it rose. Now they were on a high ledge. Above them was only the cold night sky. At their backs was smooth rock towering upward. With his back against the rock, Ben saw only space and a stomach-churning drop to the forest below if they missed a single footing. Spreading his arms wide against the rock face, he touched Dominic’s fingers. “Maybe we’d better go back and look in a different direction?”

The facemaker inched forward until he was clasping Ben’s hand. “No, press on. I think we’ll find someplace up ahead, maybe a cave or a deep rift. Don’t look down, though, just keep your face level with the side of these rocks, and don’t try to walk. Shuffle sideways—not too fast, nice and easy does it.”

Obediently, Ben kept his gaze level, though every now and again his eyes would stray to the sickening drop from the ledge. He called out, “Are you alright, Karay? Can you manage?”

The girl answered, trying not to show the fear she felt. “I’m fine, I’m holding on to Dominic’s other hand and Ned’s ear!”

The dog’s thoughts entered Ben’s mind. “I’m not complaining, but she’s got a grip like a vise for such a pretty, slim girl. You just push on ahead, Ben. I think there must be a touch of mountain goat in my family, I’m doing rather well. Go easy and look after yourself!”

Ben returned the Labrador’s thoughts. “Thanks, Ned, I will. I don’t suppose there’s any indication of those Razan following us, is there?”

Ned’s reply was not a cheerful one. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that, mate. Now don’t go telling Karay or Dominic, no sense in frightening them into a wrong move, but I’ve just this moment heard that big slobbering mastiff. He’s got a bark like a bull with colic. There’s two men with him, and they’re just debating whether or not to follow us out onto this ledge.”

The one named Domba made the mastiff’s chain fast to a low spur of rock. He peered apprehensively up the narrow winding ledge, then chanced a glance below. Looking away swiftly, he threw a hand over his eyes. “No use clamberin’ about here, they wouldn’t dare take this route, I’m sure of it!”

Rouge, the big redheaded robber, snorted scornfully. “This is the trail Gurz has sniffed out, we go this way.”

Domba tried another excuse. “It could be just a decoy trail. Take Gurz an’ have a look. I’ll wait here an’ keep my eyes open for them in case they’ve gone another way.”

Rouge shook his head in disgust. “You’re scared, Domba. That’s the true reason y’don’t want to go—you’ve got no stomach for it. Look, your legs are shakin’, you gutless worm!”

Domba tried to push past Rouge, desperate to be back on safer ground. “Call me what ye like, I’m not goin’!”

Rouge grabbed Domba’s collar and whipped out his knife. “Oh yes ye are. Now get goin’, or I’ll slay ye myself. Come on, loose that chain from the rocks an’ follow Gurz. I’ll be right behind, don’t even think of turnin’ back!”

Domba undid the chain and wound it about his wrist. Gurz took a sniff at the path and gave a gruff bark. Then he was away, straining at the chain lead as he dragged the terrified man out along the narrow mountain ledge.

Ben and his party heard the mastiff’s bark. Karay gave a sob of dismay. “It’s the Razan, they’ve found us! What do we do now?”

Dominic squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid, keep going at a steady pace, don’t try to hurry. They can only go at the same rate as us. See anything up ahead, Ben?”

Dawn was beginning to streak the sky as Ben peered ahead. His reply carried a note of hope. “Aye, there’s a slight bend, let’s get round it. There may be someplace better there, perhaps a crack to hide in!”

Suddenly, Ben’s feet skidded on the rock. As Dominic pulled him back from the brink, he half slipped, then steadied himself. “Whooh! Thanks, Dom. Be very careful, there’s ice on the ledge. Water from high up has trickled down and frozen in the night.” With painstaking care the four travellers shuffled hand in hand around the icy bend, which shone dully in day’s first pale light.

Ben’s heart sank when he saw where they were. The narrow ledge gave way to a broad, sloping slide of bare rock dotted with pockets of shale. There was no further path between the snow-clad peaks above and the ground far, far below. Dominic sized up the situation. Behind them the mastiff set up a series of deep, baying barks. The hunters were hot on their trail now.

The facemaker came to a swift decision. “Let me get in front of you, Ben. There’s a crack in the rock face, I can reach it! We’ll go upward, I can see a deep pocket of shale there. The rock must have fallen down and filled a big crevasse. If we can make it onto the shale we’re safe!”

Ben glanced up at the route his friend had indicated. It was an extremely slim chance and very risky, but he knew they had to take it. He spoke his thoughts aloud. “There’s no guarantee that shale won’t slide if we get to it. As for going up there, I’ll do that. I’ve had some experience at climbing ships’ rigging. Right, take your cloaks off and give them to me. Don’t ask questions, there’s no time!”

Ben took Dominic’s knife and slit the three wide-skirted cloaks through their back seams from top to bottom. Knotted together, the six pieces made a makeshift rope. Taking one end between his teeth, Ben had Dominic hold the other. With a small skip and a jump, he launched himself out above the crack in the rock’s sheer face.

For one heart-stopping moment, Ben’s cold hands slid down the icy surface. Then he caught the crack and hung there. Ned’s thoughts were crowding in on him as he did—the dog praying. “Oh please, lovely angel, don’t let my Ben fall. Keep him safe, let him live, and I promise to be a much better Ned in the future. Honest I will!”

Hand over hand, Ben moved along the fissure until it became broader and deeper, then levered himself up and found that he could wedge his feet in and stand upright. The mastiff’s snuffling and baying seemed quite close now—and he could hear Rouge urging and threatening Domba along.

“Don’t stand still, fool, you’ll freeze with fright. Keep goin’, they can’t be far ahead!”

Dominic tied the cloak end around Karay’s waist, instructing her, “Try to climb. Ben’ll pull you up if you slip.”

The girl ventured gingerly out. She had not gone more than a few feet when she slipped. Ben braced himself. “Hang on, mate. Wait until you’ve stopped swinging, then climb!”

Karay shut her eyes tight. She swung to and fro like a pendulum, then caught her foot on a rough spot and began attempting to climb. Ben heaved stoutly on the rope, pulling her up until he reached her with his hands. Perching in the rocky-crack, she undid the cloak rope. Ben knotted a piece of rock into the end and swung it back to Dominic.

Ben called out Ned’s thoughts, instructing Dominic on what to do. “Tie it round Ned, under his front legs. Give him a bit to hold on to with his teeth, then swing him out.”

Dominic complied with the orders. Ned went swinging out into space, still mentally beseeching the angel, “Oooooh! Listen, good angel, do the same for me as you did for Ben, and I promise to make a better boy of him. Just don’t let Dominic’s hands slip, dear sweet nice angel!”

A moment later, Ben and Karay had hauled Ned up into the crack. Dominic’s shout reached them, loud and urgent. “Throw the rope back, quick, they’re here!”

The mastiff’s ugly head poked around the bend of the ledge, followed by a white-faced Domba, then the triumphant Rouge, who snarled at his companion. “Hand that chain to me! I’ll watch Gurz, you get past the dog an’ grab the lad. The others’ll climb back here when they see what I do to him. Go on, move yourself, slowcoach!”

Flattening himself against the ledge wall, Domba inched past the mastiff. Dominic reached out to the swinging rope and missed it. He caught it on the second swing, at the same moment that Domba grabbed his shoulder with one hand. Seizing the rope with both hands and his teeth, Dominic swung out with Domba clinging to him. Ben and Karay, with the help of Ned’s jaws, leaned back and took the strain of both bodies. The cloak made a ragged, tearing sound as Dominic spun. Domba was still clinging behind him as they hit the rock face. His head cracked against it and he let go.

“Yeeeeeaaaaarrrrr!”

Dominic tried not to look at the robber’s body sailing through empty space. As he felt the cloak rope ripping, he babbled out a stream of entreaties. “Pull me up, Ben, pull me up pull me up don’t let me fall, Ben, please please please!”

Next thing he knew, Dominic was clutching both of Ben’s hands as Karay and Ned clung grimly to the shredding rope. “It’s alright, Dom, I’ve got you, safe and sound. Up ye come!”

Rouge looked across to where the four escapees perched in the crack on the mountain face. He wagged a finger at them, as if reproving naughty children. “Done it now, ain’t ye. Gone an’ killed my poor friend Domba!”

Karay shouted back at the robber. “Rubbish, it was his own stupid fault, you’ll get the same if you try anything!”

Rouge shook his head and laughed. “Hoho, brave words, little maid. But I ain’t tryin’ anything. You an’ your pals are stuck there with no place to go…. Come on, climb back over here, I won’t hurt ye!”

Ben had seen the robber’s type before—quite a few times. He threw back his head and laughed at Rouge. “Haha, who d’you think you’re trying to fool? We know you’re a Razan. We’ll stay right here, thankee!”

Rouge wound the mastiff’s chain around his hand as he replied. “Right then, you stay there. As for me, I’ll go back to camp an’ get some others. We’ll be back, carryin’ muskets!”

He noted the stunned silence and the anxious looks the young people exchanged. “Ain’t so cheeky now, are ye?”

Ben caught Ned’s thoughts in the pause which followed. “Dear angel, remember those promises I made to you? Well, er, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to break them a bit. But it’s all in a good cause, to save my friends’ lives. So forgive me!”

Ned teetered on the edge of the crack, tail straight out, hackles rising and teeth bared. The black Labrador began barking, growling and snarling thunderously at Gurz. Ben took hold of his dog’s collar. “Ned, what’s wrong, boy?”

But Ned ignored him, rearing up on his hind legs, straining against the hand holding his collar. Foam flecked from the Labrador’s mouth as he howled like a wild animal at the mastiff.

Gurz howled back and set up a series of short angry barks.

Rouge tugged on the dog’s chain. “Quit that row, ye great idiot!”

Ned barked in return, roaring furiously. The rock face resounded with the noise of both dogs, then without warning Gurz took off, dragging Rouge with him. The robber’s feet skidded on the ice as the huge mastiff pulled him forward. Gurz made a massive leap out into space, as though he were trying to reach the crack with a mighty bound. But he never made it. Both man and mastiff plummeted into the valley, howling the last sounds they would make on this earth. It was a long way down—they looked like two black spots crumpled on the rocky foothills.

Dominic could only shake his head in bewilderment. “What happened there?”

Ned explained mentally to Ben. “I made some nasty remarks about his parents, his mother the donkey and his father the pig. Then I challenged him to a fight, but I said that he could never jump this far, like I had!”

Ben stroked his dog’s head, staring into the liquid brown eyes. “But we swung you on the rope from the ledge to here.”

Ned managed a doggy look of innocence. “Aye, but he hadn’t arrived to see that part. Mastiffs aren’t too bright, y’know. I’m sorry I had to do it, but that redheaded rogue didn’t leave us too much choice. ‘Twas either that or get shot.”

Ben ruffled his friend’s ears. “I’m sure the angel will forgive you. I certainly do, it was a very clever idea!”

Bright morning sun began driving away the clouds and warming the air. Dominic flexed his stiff legs. “Well, friends, where to now?”

As if in answer to the question, there was a piteous call. “Maaaahaaah!”

Ben pointed back to the narrow ledge. “Goats!” Two of the creatures stood staring at them across the void, shaggy-coated, cloven-hoofed and with expressions of curiosity in their odd eyes. By the difference in their sizes, they looked like a nanny goat and her little kid. The mother nuzzled her little one as it stood bleating, “Maaah maaaaahaaah!”

A voice from around the bend called to them. “Sissy, Paris, what’ve I told you about running off like that? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times!”

A large, strong-looking woman clad in man’s attire came around the bend. Over the rough cloak she wore was a coil of rope with an ice axe tucked into its loops. She tended to the goats, shooing them back off along the ledge, before turning her homely, weather-beaten face to the four friends. “What are ye doing out there, children? You don’t look like Razan, but who can tell these days?”

Instinctively Ben knew she was friendly. He smiled at her. “No, marm, we’re not Razan, we were just trying to escape from them. But we’re stuck out here, I’m afraid.”

The goatherd lady returned Ben’s smile. She peered over the ledge at the three tiny figures crumpled below on the rocks. “The only good Razan’s a dead ‘un, you did away with them well.”

Karay retorted, a little indignantly, “No, we didn’t, it was their own fault. And anyway, they’d have killed us if they could have!”

The woman shrugged the rope from her shoulders. “No matter. If you stay there much longer, you’ll freeze. Let’s get you back to safety. Huh, you’re worse than some of my goats for getting y’selves stuck in awkward places!”

She tied one end of the rope to her axe handle and began whirling the device expertly. Hurling it high over their heads, she landed the axe in a rock fissure above them. Tugging to make sure the rope would not drop, she threw it to Ben. “Tie the dog on. Give him a good hard push, away from me. I’ll catch him on the backswing.”

Ben heard Ned thinking as he was hurled off across the rock face. “Whoooooo! Hope the good lady has strong hands!”

He had no need to worry. The big woman caught him lightly and set him on the ledge. He sent Ben a relieved thought. “Hahaha, she’s twice as strong as Anaconda!”

Karay went next, then Dominic and finally Ben. When they were all safe, Ben held his hand out and introduced himself and his companions.

The woman shook his hand cheerily—she had a grip like a vise. Ben winced. “Thank you very much, marm, we’re sorry to put you to any bother.”

She flicked the axe from its fissure. Catching it skilfully, she wound the rope back over her shoulder.

“My name’s Arnela. ‘Tis no bother, lad. I’ve swung crevasses on the rope many a time. Aye, and with a pair of goats slung across my back. Come on, you’ll want feeding. Young’uns always do, goats or humans.”

When they got off the ledge, Arnela led them on a switchback of a route through secret paths and over jumbles of rock. She gathered goats along the way, chiding each as she herded them ahead of her. “Achilles, where’ve you been, you badly behaved fellow! Clovis, tell that kid of yours to stay with the rest! Shame on you, Pantyro, stop acting the goat and lead the herd like I taught you to!”

Arnela stroked Ned’s head absently. “Hmm, nice dog, aren’t ye? I’ll wager you’ve more sense than all these creatures.”

Ben was not at all surprised when Arnela’s dwelling turned out to be a cave, though it was so well concealed that nobody noticed it until she pointed it out. “There you go, straight in behind that little waterfall. See if you can do it without getting wet—lean, watch!” She rounded the corner of a rift covered with wet moss and mountain plants and vanished behind a small cataract that flowed into a pool and overspilt into a stream. Arnela patted each one’s back as they came through into the cave, checking to see how wet they had got. “Ah well, you’ll learn. Ned’s the only dry one among ye.”

She ducked outside again. They could hear her calling to the goats. “No, don’t stray too far or there’ll be no fodder for ye. Atlas, stop nibbling those plants, d’ye hear me?” A moment later she was back inside, waving her hand at immense piles of dried grass heaped everywhere. “Sit ye down on the goats’ dinner while I get a fire going.”

In a deep crevice at the back of the cave, Arnela kindled a fire from the ashes of a previous one, chatting away animatedly. “Always use charcoal, nice red glow, no smoke. This is my summer and autumn home. Winter and spring I take the herd down to the forest, got my other place there, hidden, like this one. Here, Karay, do somethin’ for your living, girl, bring me that basket of eggs. You boys fetch the flour an’ milk, you’ll find some fresh herbs there, too, on that shelf.”

The eggs were those of mountain birds, some big and speckled, others plain white. Karay handed Arnela the basket. “I thought you’d be making a stew of goat meat,” the girl said.

The big woman fixed her with an icy glare. “Goat? People in their right mind don’t eat goat, it makes them silly. I wouldn’t dream of eating my goats, they’re my children. I’ll make you a special treat of mine. Mountain bread and herbs with good goat cheese, ‘tis my secret recipe, you’ll like it.”

Arnela was right, they did like her secret recipe. The food was homely and delicious. As they ate, Dominic related their story, from the day of their arrival at the village fair up to their encounter the previous night with Gizal, the blind woman. Arnela listened intently, showing great interest whenever Adamo’s name was mentioned.

When Dominic finished, the goatherd lady sat staring into the fire. “So, you have taken on a mission to save the comte’s nephew. ‘Tis a brave and courageous thing you do. But let me warn you, the perils and dangers of going up against the Razan could cost you your lives—they are an evil brood!”

Ben could not help remarking, “You live in these mountains, marm, but they don’t seem to bother you. How is that?”

A baby goat wandered into the cavern, bleating piteously. The big woman took it on her lap and stroked it gently until it fell silent and dozed off in the warmth. Then she began telling the friends her own history.

“I come from Andorra, high in these mountains, between France and Spain. I knew neither mother nor father, the only life I had was that of a tavern drudge, even as a very young girl. The owner said that gypsies left me on his doorstep one night. The townsfolk were scared of me, they said I was a mountain giant. I was big, you see. Though I was only young, I was taller, broader and stronger than anybody. By the time I was ten, all the local boys had given up teasing me, because I had beaten most of them soundly for their cruel taunts and jibes. My life was not a happy one. I slept in the stables, with donkeys and mules for company. Then the day came—I must have been nearly twenty years of age. One evening in the tavern, the mayor’s brother, a fat pompous lout who had been drinking overmuch, began making sport of me. I ignored him, which made his mood turn nasty. As I passed by with a trayful of food and drink he stuck out his foot, and I tripped and fell heavily— meat, ale, dishes and tankards were everywhere. The owner came running across the room and started beating me for my clumsiness. Well, I got up and laid them both out with a blow apiece, the tavern owner and the mayor’s brother. The guards and constables were sent for. I fought them, but they were too many for me, and I was dragged off and thrown in prison. It was more a kind of outhouse than a real dungeon. While the mayor and the citizens’ committee were meeting to plan some dreadful punishment for my crimes, I broke through the roof, which was only thatch and old timber, and escaped!”

Dominic, his parchment and charcoals before him, was drawing Arnela as she sat talking to them. He chuckled. “You’ve certainly led an adventurous life, my friend. What happened after that?”

Arnela stared at her strong, weather-tanned hands. “I ran away and went to live among these mountains and the forests below, knowing the townsfolk wouldn’t dare follow me into Razan territory. Nobody except outlaws dwell in this region.”

Karay sat with her chin cupped in both hands, her eyes shining with admiration for the brave goatherd. “But weren’t you afraid of the Razan?”

The big woman scoffed. “They knew I was a fugitive from the law. Their menfolk didn’t bother me, but several of the Razan women tried to intimidate me. Hah! I sent them on their way nursing bruises and broken limbs, I can tell you. Especially the ones who tried to steal my goats. The Razan tend to leave me alone these days, and that’s the way I like it!”

Picking the baby goat up tenderly, Arnela laid it gently on a stack of dried grass. “I think I’ll call that one Morpheus, he’s done little else but sleep since he was born. Dominic, you mentioned Adamo before. Let me tell you, I know him.”

Ben was immediately curious. “Tell us about him, please.” The big woman nodded her head and sighed. “Several times over the years I saw the boy, always being hauled back to the Razan caves after trying to escape. My heart warmed to him at first sight, because he was big like me, and strong, too. You only had to look at him and you knew even from behind that it was Adamo, a mountain of a young man!

“Anyhow, let me tell you. One night, about a month ago, it began to storm and rain. So, I went out to the cliffs to gather my goats in here, out of the weather. That was when I saw him—he was hiding in the rocks like a hunted animal, hungry and soaked to the skin. I brought him into this very cave, dried him and gave him food. At first I thought he was a mute because he sat by my fire half the night without saying a single word, just gazing at me with those beautiful brown eyes of his. But gradually I got him to talk. Adamo did not know who his mother or father were, but he could remember a big house where he thought he may once have lived or stayed. He could recall a kindly old gentleman and a nice old lady, but that was all. One thing he was sure of, though, he didn’t belong with the Razan—their mountain caves were a prison to him. The old one, Maguda Razan, kept telling Adamo that she was his grandmother and the only kin he had living in the world. Poor Adamo, he begged her to let him go free, but Maguda refused. His hatred of being made to live in the company of robbers and murderers drove him to try to escape. He never got far—Razan men hunted him down and brought him back to the caves. Adamo was normally a quiet, lonely boy, but after he was first recaptured he refused to speak with any Razan, particularly Maguda. Many times as he grew he tried to escape and break away over the years. Each time he was brought back. Maguda threatened him with all manner of horrible things, but this did not stop Adamo.

“He told me all this that night I hid him in my cave. Came the dawn, I awoke to find he had gone. Soon after, a band of Razan came here and searched the area. Ligran Razan was their leader. He’s worse than all his brothers put together, that one. A big mastiff dog he brought with him picked up Adamo’s scent, and away they went, a pack of wild animals led by a wild animal! I haven’t seen Adamo since, pray heaven and all the saints that the poor boy escaped this time. I haven’t seem them dragging him back either, so at least that’s something to keep my hopes up. Though you can never tell with the Razan—maybe they captured him and took him back by another route.”

Ben felt enormous sympathy for Arnela. “Don’t worry, marm, when we get to their hideout we’ll find him, if he’s there. If not, we’ll scour all of France and Spain until we can return Adamo to his uncle in Veron.”

Dominic presented her with his finished picture. “Thanks for your help, Arnela. I hope you like this, I did it for you in thanks for your help and hospitality.”

The facemaker had portrayed Arnela in profile, sitting with the baby goat on her lap by the fire. Beauty and simplicity of heart radiated from the parchment. Every line and weather mark on the big goatherd’s ruddy features caught her kindliness and strength of humanity.

Her voice was husky with reverence for the artist’s skill. “Dominic, I have never seen anything like this, ‘tis a wondrous thing. I will keep it on my driest wall. It will always remind me of you, my good friends. Now, is there anything I can do to help you? Just ask. Anything?”

Ned leaned his chin on Arnela’s knee and gazed up at her. “This wonderful person would come with us, I know she would. But the goats are her children—what would become of them if she left the herd to go off adventuring with us?”

Ben caught Ned’s thought and spoke his answer aloud. “Oh, don’t trouble yourself, marm, we’ll be alright. Though I’d like you to keep watch for us on our return. We may need to get out of these mountains pretty fast.”

Arnela stroked behind Ned’s ears. “I’ll watch night and day for a sign of you. Now you must rest, it’s safer to travel by night if you want to avoid discovery. Lie down now, children.”

They lay warm and cosy on the dried grass, Ned with his eyes half closed, watching Arnela mending their torn cloaks with goat-hair twine and a large bone needle.

Just before the Labrador dropped off, he heard her gathering grass and murmuring to the goats who had strayed inside. “Hush now, Ajax, and you too, Pantyro, let the young ‘uns sleep. They’ve got enough to contend with, or they will have soon. Come on, now, outside, all of you, have dinner out in the fresh air. Clovis, can’t you do something about that kid of yours, I’ve never seen such bad manners. Out with you!”

Lulled by the safety of the cave and its flickering firelit shadows, Ned sent Ben a message. “I wouldn’t mind being one of Arnela’s goats, they certainly get the best of treatment and care from her. Hmm, maybe not, though. Goats are a pretty thick lot, I’d never be able to put up with all that maaahing and baaaing, would you, mate?”

But his thoughts fell on deaf ears. Ben, Dominic and Karay were already soundly slumbering.

Ben had the feeling that it was evening outside when Arnela wakened them. She had bowls of vegetable soup and some bread and honey prepared for them.

“Eat plenty now, young ‘uns, it might be some time before you get another good meal. Here, I’ve fixed up your cloaks as best as I could—needlework was never my strong point. I’ve packed a little food for you, and I’ve thrown in one of my extra ropes and an ice axe, you’ll need them.”

Having eaten, the four companions went outside to take their farewells of their newfound friend. It was cold. Frost glittered on the rocks, and the sky above was a vault of dark velvet, pierced by a million pinpoints of bright starlight and a pale lemon-rind slice of moon.

Arnela’s formidable arms encircled their shoulders. “Go now, and take all my fondest wishes with you. Stay to the right winding paths—avoid the left ones, or you’ll finish up stranded on some ledge. Lead them off, Ned, you good dog. Go on, don’t look back, and tread carefully.”

They trudged away with Arnela’s voice fading behind them. “Come out of that water, Theseus, d’you want your hair to freeze? Narcissus, stop looking at yourself in the pool. Clovis, don’t act silly, I’ve got your kid here with me. Come on, all inside now, that means you, too, Pantyro!”