'See what a horrible person I am. You really don't need me around you any more.' He sucked in a breath of air. 'That's not true. You are the one. I simply saw a confluence between what I wanted and what was expected of you.'
Caitlin stood up, but it was Amy who surfaced to speak their mind. 'I really am disappointed in you, Professor Crowther.'
He thought he would be inured to her words, but that little-girl voice from Caitlin's place of innocence hit to the very heart of him. Caitlin/Amy saw it in his face, but made no attempt to comfort him. She left the tavern as quickly as she could. Mahalia and Carlton had spent hours trawling along the twisting, dark corridors of the palace. They had seen many secret places and overheard whispers of great importance, but still hadn't found the object of their quest.
'Maybe they executed him,' Mahalia said. 'That could have been why he'd got the hood on, and the chains…'
Carlton shook his head and pressed ahead.
'Haven't we been down here already?' But the words caught in her throat when she noticed an unfamiliar tapestry hanging on the wall between two sizzling torches. It showed five people — humans by the stylised design — joined by the sinuous coils of what appeared to be a serpent. Other illustrations surrounding the central motif appeared to tell a story that, at first glance, ended in some great disaster, but before she could examine it closer, a voice called out clearly, 'Who's there?'
Mahalia dragged Carlton into her protective grip. He fought free and advanced quickly along the corridor with Mahalia at his heels until they came to a heavy oaken door with a small barred window set into it.
'I know you're there. There's no point hiding.'
Cautiously, Mahalia approached the window and peered into a small, dank cell. Straw was scattered on the stone flags, and pinned to the far wall by chains was the hooded prisoner. Surely, Mahalia thought, he must be a real danger to be secured so forcefully. She ducked away when she saw those brilliant eyes fixed on her through the holes in the hood.
'Don't go.'
His voice, though clear, was faintly pitiful and she couldn't help coming back to the window and that hypnotic gaze. 'You're not one of them,' she said.
'No. I'm one of you.' He rattled the chains for her attention. 'Can you get me out of here?' Though he was clearly human, there was an awkwardness to his speech as if he wasn't used to talking.
'Right. Free the psycho imprisoned in the bowels of the palace. That's a good idea.' 'I'm not a psycho. They're just… scared of me.' She laughed. 'Why would they be scared of you? You look as if you'd snap in two in a strong wind.' He didn't reply for a few seconds as he sorted his thoughts, then he said, unconvincingly, 'They just are.' 'I don't waste time talking to people who lie to me…' She made as if to go and he called her back with a desperate urging. 'I'm sorry. I'm not lying! I just… it's hard to talk, with you out there and me hanging here…' Mahalia gripped the bars. 'Well, if you think I'm coming within arm's reach of you, you've got another think coming.' She eyed the large padlock below the handle. 'Besides, there's no way I'd get through this thing.' 'You could find some way,' he said hopefully. 'How'd you get here, anyway?' 'They stole me.' 'What?' 'From my mother, when I was a baby. That's what they do… what they've always done — steal infants so they can experiment on them.' 'I don't believe you.' Empathy fanned up inside Mahalia. Then: 'You've been a prisoner all your life?' 'Since I was a baby. I escaped from them once, but now they've recaptured me and they're going to send me back to the place where they carry out the experiments — the Court of the Final Word.' Mahalia couldn't decide whether she should believe him or not. She hoped Carlton would give her some sign, but the boy's face was impassive. 'What's your name?' 'Jack.' 'How old are you?' A pause. 'I don't know.' He sensed he was making some headway with her, so he continued to talk in the hope of winning her over. 'There are two factions amongst these people-' 'I know all about that.'
'Well, this lot are neutral. They don't want to offend either side till they've decided who they're supporting, so they're not going to risk having me here as a point of contention. They're sending me back as soon as they can. I need your help. I couldn't bear to go back there again. The things they do…' He swallowed heavily. 'If I went back there'd be no point in me living.'
'Don't say that.'
'If you were in my place you'd feel the same.'
Mahalia chewed on a knuckle. She felt for him greatly, but there was also a part of what he was saying that didn't add up. She'd grown adept at recognising risk and the last thing she wanted to do was to make their situation worse.
'I need to think about this.' She grabbed Carlton and pulled him away from the door.
'Don't go!' Jack pleaded.
'I'll be back.'
'Don't go!' This time it was a yell of desperation, and she could still hear his agonised calls when she had put many, many lengths of corridor between them. Matt was lost in a maze of narrow mews when frantic cries came to him on the wind. He followed the sound out of the oppressively dark backstreets until he came up against a force of heavily armoured soldiers rushing in the direction of the walls. The silvery metal of their helmets and breastplates transformed them into a river of light washing down the dismal streets in the drizzle that had fallen ever since the group's arrival.
The urgency of their actions made Matt uneasy, and he grabbed at a woman hurrying away from the source of the disturbance. 'What's going on?' he asked.
'They attack,' she said breathlessly. 'They have found a way past the defences.' She broke away from Matt and continued on her way before turning to point an accusing finger at him. 'Your fault,' she hissed bitterly before disappearing into the throng.
Matt fought his way through the citizens swarming away from the walls until he had a clear view of the activity. That sickening purple light was everywhere, drifting like the smoke of a battlefield, and through it came hideously misshapen figures, transformed by the Whisperers like the poor hermit from the Motor Museum who had attacked them at the Rollrights. Bones protruded from limbs, skulls shone through flesh, and weapons — swords, spears, axes — had been embedded in their frames as if they were natural parts of the body. They lurched with the relentlessness of zombies from some horror movie, the purple illumination leaking out of them.
Even at that distance, Matt could sense the paralysing despair they carried with them. As the soldiers approached, they stopped in their tracks, their swords falling hopelessly to their sides. Some simply lay down on the cobbles, offering themselves up to the sweeps of the Whisperer weapons, demanding to be released from the pain of life.
The Whisperers, Matt guessed, had caught some poor travellers making their way across the plain to the court and were using them to breach whatever magical defences kept the court secure. Somehow they had clambered up the vertiginous walls to gain access to the city. The ones within were now forcing their way down the road towards the gates, to throw them open for the leaders who waited without.
There were only twelve of them, but the horde of soldiers seemed incapable of stopping them. Thirty or more of the little men already lay dead, their blood running down the stones in a claret stream, and now the others were starting to hold back, realising the futility of their attack. Without a second thought, he turned and bounded up the steep streets until he found the shop he had noticed earlier. It was a fletcher's, the interior hung with more bows of all description than he had seen in his life. The owner eyed him suspiciously, but did nothing to stop him as Matt selected one he thought he could handle, along with a quiver full of arrows, and then he was hurtling back down towards the melee.