One
Somewhere a little to the left of the world we know, there is a land that is not quite right. There, on the coast, lies the city of Tortenschloss, with its high crinkle-cut walls, towers upon towers in nests of trees, and long winding streets that would have been perfect for roller-skating if it weren’t for the cob-ob-ob-ob-obbles.
Peachy Keane whizzed around the bend at the foot of the hill and onto the smoother stones of the harbourfront, where her grateful bones could settle into a gentler rattle, like sticks in jelly. And where she had to steer niftily clear of nets and lobster pots, and the few trawler-men stacking them. The sun was just beginning to peer sleepily over the farthest rooftops, casting a wash of warm pink into a sky of hazy blue.
Despite the challenge of negotiating such everyday obstacles at high speeds, Peachy always managed a cheery “Hi!” to everyone she knew – as well as a swift, over-the shoulder “Sorry!” to anybody she nearly bumped into, the earnestness of her apology usually pitched in proportion to how narrowly she avoided a collision. They all knew Peachy, in her T-shirt and shorts, her knee and elbow pads with their orange-and-blue go-faster stripes, and she was used to all this from her paper round. But she’d hurried to finish her round early this morning, because Leo had called a meeting.
Half of her did wonder why Leo chose to call a meeting at this hour, when even most respectable birds were still sleeping – apart from a few gulls tending to their morning ablutions in the harbour waters. Leo himself was usually lying in till noon, whenever duty permitted. He only rose early when he was adventuring. Or when he was troubled.
Trying not to worry about the possibilities before she knew what they were, Peachy wove her way between the capstans along the waterfront, checking out some of the weird and wonderful colours of the sailing ships moored in the harbour.
The Barbican was beginning to wake up, with lamps and candles winking into life in the windows and men and women bustling out of doorways, tugging on their coats and trying to guess what sort of weather was in store for the day ahead. Peachy kicked past them all, scanning the row of taverns, inns, alehouses, pubs and drinkeries for the one Leo had specified in his note. Plenty of the establishments along here would have stayed open all night and some were turfing groups of customers out of their doorways as Peachy sped by. A little side-scoot was necessary now and then to avoid some of the drunken sailors who, emerging into the morning light, didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves.
Up ahead, there was a spot of commotion as one group of sailors broke ranks and scattered, turning to shout and raise their fists at the nearest roof. Above them on the rooftop, a pair of jeopards were pelting them with gull’s eggs they’d obviously filched from the nest in the chimney top. One of the animals pranced and squealed with glee as its missile struck a sailor, splattering his shoulder with gooey golden yolk and egg white. Its partner loped away to the chimney eager to gather more ammunition.
As Peachy hurtled past, she felt some sympathy for the sailors, but more for the baby gulls that would never hatch and for the parents who were squawking and screeching overhead; but it was just the kind of thing jeopards did for entertainment and there was very little that gulls, sailors, Peachy or anyone could do about jeopards.
Shaking her head, she was back to watching where she was going and looking for the place she was headed.
A few cottages had wedged themselves in wherever they could find space along the row, but the majority of buildings boasted painted signs hanging above their doorways. All with colourful names, usually denoting unusual pairings: there, the Seaweed and Tern; next door, the Dog and Plate; a couple of doors along, the Sword and Mongoose.
There was such a jumble of them.
The Pair of Apples, Leo’s note had specified. Peachy would have asked for clearer directions, but Leo had only sent his note in the small hours; and she had woken to the sound of the pigeon pecking at her window. The note was marked URGENT, so she had known right away she would have to finish her paper round in double-quick time and find her own way. Luckily, finding her own way was one of Peachy’s special talents.
And there it was: one of the more rickety old taverns, its rosy coat of plaster all chipped and faded, and its thick roof of thatch ragged and dishevelled. A wooden sign hanging out in front proudly displayed its name and a couple of shiny red and green apples. Its tiny doorway seemed to suggest there was no admittance to anyone over five feet tall.
Peachy veered smoothly around a capstan and steered herself across the road to the doorway. Where she was stopped, rudely, by a big man who thrust out one huge arm. He touched a pudgy finger to a sign on the wall, which said:
STRICTLY NO JUNIORS.
And he seemed quite adamant about the STRICTLY part.
“Um, it’s okay, I’ll take my skates off.” She started to bend down to do so, but he just shook his head to tell her no, that wasn’t it.
Typical of Leo, thought Peachy, to arrange a meeting in a place where she was too young to be allowed in. Sometimes he really didn’t think things through.
She sized up the bouncer, wondering about her chances of slipping past him; but sizing up was the last thing he needed. He was a big lead balloon of a man. If they had been able to divide him in two without doing him any permanent injury, he could have blocked both the front and back doors with plenty of girth to spare.
“Sorry,” he offered. “I’m sure you’re very grown up for your age, but rules is rules. The boss is very clear on that.”
Peachy nodded. It wasn’t his fault. And she felt a little guilty for thinking about ducking past him. He had been polite, for all his gruffness, and for a bouncer he looked to have very little bounce left. Probably he had been standing guard most of the night and was ready to go home.
“Well, fair enough,” she said with a small shrug. “But there’s a friend of mine supposed to be in there and he wants to see me. Can you let him know I’m here? It is urgent.”
The bouncer looked dubious, but sympathetic to her plight.
She pressed on a shade more hopefully. “Leo, he’s called. Leopold De Lacey. He’ll be the one in fancy dress.”
As soon as she’d said it, she hoped there hadn’t been anything like a big fancy dress party going on in there last night; but that was the way she always described Leo to those who didn’t know him – and it was surprising how many people got who she meant right away.
The bouncer was no exception, apparently. “De Lacey!” he shouted into the dingy interior. There was a bit of a din in there, of raised voices and tankards, but the man’s voice would carry easily. “Friend of yours here to see you!” He waited, but there was no answer. “I expect he’ll be out in a mo,” he looked down at Peachy. “They got a spot of bother in there.”
“Oh, right. What sort of bother? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The bouncer glanced over his shoulder. The voices in there were rising all the while and it sounded more like some sort of heated argument was brewing than people just having a good time and a few drinks. “We got intruders.”
“Intruders?” Peachy didn’t like the sound of that.
“Mist mariners,” he confided. “Two of the beggars.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t just the way he said it, then. Mist mariners were some of the worst kind of intruders. They drifted across the seas, riding the crests of waves and creeping into the wood of ship’s hulls, where they lived as creaks and groans and all manner of other noises that would curse the sailors with sleepless nights and nightmares. And sometimes, when the ships made port, they would float ashore and find homes in the floorboards and beams of houses or taverns. They were a kind of poltergeist, Peachy had heard, and they did far worse than make spooky noises. “Do they need help in there?”
“Don’t you worry your head about it.” The bouncer ruffled her hair. “That friend of yours, De Lacey, he’s got another friend in there with him. A paladin, she is; a holy knight, bold and fearless. She’ll have those ghastly beggars exercised in no time.”
“Exorcised, you mean.”
“Aye. That.”
Resigning herself to a bit of a wait, Peachy scooted over to the barrel beside the window and hoiked herself up onto it for a makeshift seat. Her skates thunked against its sides as she swung her legs, literally kicking her heels. She listened to the growing racket inside and couldn’t help wishing she was in there too, doing battle with the things. Still, she could tell readily enough that the bouncer wasn’t about to make an exception to the STRICTLY part of his sign just because there was a haunting in progress. And she could smile at least, knowing that Shinvar – it had to be Shinvar - was in there with Leo, doing her bit.
Kiala couldn’t have been here yet, because surely the bouncer would have mentioned something. And if she wasn’t here yet, there were no prizes for guessing what was keeping her: Sludge, it had to be. Poor Kiala.
These thoughts had just finished going through her mind and she’d pretty much finished thunking the barrel, when a heavy wooden table came smashing through the window. Peachy jumped feet and landed awkwardly on her skates as the table struck the flagstones with an enormous bang and clatter. She threw out her arms for balance, but it was no good. She flopped flat onto her bum.
A couple of chairs came flying out, one after another, to crash land near the table.
Peachy was still sitting there on the cold stones when Leo appeared in the tavern doorway, drawing deep breaths of the morning air and straightening his beloved plumed hat.
“Ah, Peachy,” he said. “There you are.”
“Don’t you dare ‘there you are’ me!” She scowled. “You arranged a meeting here where I’m not allowed in.”
She struggled to stand, but in her haste only managed to wobble on her skates and had to reach out to steady herself against the barrel. “So you can start,” she told him, “by telling me what this urgent meeting of yours is all about!”
“Pardon the oversight, dear Peachy.” Leo sauntered over and extended a characteristically chivalrous hand to help her stay on her feet. “But you see, Shinvar and I had agreed to help the landlord expel his uninvited guests, and, well – two birds, one stone, and all that. It seemed the ideal venue.”
Peachy, her balance regained, suddenly felt less inclined to be mad at him. There was a wistful sort of melancholy in his smile and she could see he wasn’t himself.
Normally, everything about Leo was fair and light: his princely golden hair and that moustache of his, lightly pencilled on his upper lip as though he was never sure whether he wished to keep it; his blue eyes that seemed to tell stories of sunlit seas and fair-weather skies. Before her now, his locks were a little lanker than usual, his moustache a little darker and there were clouds in his eyes. Even his dashing musketeer’s uniform seemed nowhere near as flamboyant, the brim of his hat seemed floppier and the plume of royal-purple feathers had lost their debonair flounce.
Yes, troubled, she thought: Leo was definitely troubled.
Peachy flinched at the racket of more things being broken or knocked about inside the tavern. Probably furniture; but she thought of it as bric-a-brac, because that was the noise it made as it was hurled about in there. She half-expected more objects to come flying out at her. Nothing did for the time being, but she kept one eye on the window just the same.
“What is it, Leo? What’s up?”
Leo tutted and sighed through his teeth. He wandered over to the table and hefted it up in one go, flipping it onto its legs. Executing much the same manoeuvre with the chairs, he sat himself down in one of them and swung his feet up onto the table.
“Well, ideally, that ought to wait until we’re all gathered,” he said, with an apologetic tilt of his head.
Peachy didn’t think much of that: “But there’s no telling how long Kiala might be!” Sludge was always so stubborn, holding poor Kiala back and digging in his heels. Something he could do very effectively, because his heels had talons. She nodded towards the window. “Well, Shinvar will be out soon, won’t she? Or does she need our help?”
“Ah, Shinvar is handling the intruders in her own capable way. You know Shinvar – if she needed the aid of her loyal comrades in arms, she would call upon us.” There was admiration in his voice, but the melancholy still lingered. He twiddled his thumbs. “She tried talking to them. She tried the usual exorcisms, and they were having none of it. They raised objections, went into the attack and raised all manner of havoc.”
Peachy nodded. She’d heard plenty of tales of mist mariners – and once they made landfall they were devils to get rid of.
“So,” Leo inhaled and gestured at the window, where the din was sounding more and more like a battle, “Shinvar is now doing her best to persuade them to leave – with the aid of her Holy Sword.”
“Like holy words, but with the ‘S’ at the sharp end.” Peachy grinned, remembering Shinvar’s favourite way of expressing it. A fight was a last resort, she always said, but if you’re going to go there, you make sure you stay for the duration. Peachy loved Shinvar like a big sister.
And she loved Leo like a brother. “So,” she said and planted herself in the spare chair, elbows on the table and making it plain she wasn’t about to let the real subject drop. “The note said the meeting was urgent. And I bet Shinvar knows about it already. So you might as well tell me something at least. You have to!”
Leo puffed his cheeks and tutted a little tune under his breath, thinking it over. With a light stroke of his moustache, he came to a decision. “The short version,” he announced, “is that it means our adventuring days – or at least mine – are over.”
Peachy blinked. It wasn’t possible.
But the bad news was there in his eyes, like clouds conspiring to spoil a perfectly blue sky.