Doubleborn (16 page)

“Look,” said Shoddle. He lifted the corner of the damask. The glint of polished steel. A bright triangle.

“Don’t.”

The scissors were cool, heavy in her hand. She shifted round and switched them over to her other hand. Her head began to clear. The pain lifted from her throat. Her voice strengthened.

“Don’t you want to see yourself? You’re not a pretty girl, I know, but, all the same, you must be curious.”

Tamrin stood.

“Get away from there,” she said.

He raised his hand and gripped the cloth firmly.

“Move away.”

He tugged. It started to slide down.

Tamrin stepped forward, the scissors high in front of her. Shoddle saw them for the first time.

“Well,” he said. “That’s nice. I call that handsome. You’ve come with scissors ready for the tailor’s trade. You’re going to help me, after all.”

“I’m warning you.”

Another tug. The damask slid further down. The end of the cloth was now just visible at the top of the frame. Soon, its own weight would send it folding down and the mirror would stand exposed. Poised in front of it, brandishing her scissors, point first, Tamrin would see herself, from head to toe.

She jumped aside to get out of the way. She tripped and fell towards Shoddle.

The cloth slid down. The polished surface appeared. Tamrin reached out to steady herself.

“Careful,” shouted Shoddle.

Tamrin tried not to look at the mirror, tried not to see herself reflected back. Her arms flailed. She fell into him.

“You’re going to—” Shoddle started to call.

Tamrin never heard whatever he was going to say next. It stopped and changed into a wet, gurgling cough.

“No,” said Tamrin. “No.”

The scissors stuck into his throat, cutting off his objection. She pulled them out, her mouth open in shock. Blood spouted from the open wound, splashing into her face and down her front. She wiped her sleeve against her eyes to clear them. Shoddle’s eyes were wide open, staring at her. He mouthed words that never came, blood trickling from his lips.

Tamrin stepped back, away from the horror she had created.

Stepped into the sight of the mirror.

She stood and looked at herself. Red and wet. Hand still raised. Scissors open, jagged and sharp. Behind her in the room, the flint and beamed walls, the candles in their sconces, the window into the black night. Behind her in the mirror, none of these. A stone wall. A slit window. Light reflected endlessly. A high ceiling. And the dark, hunched forms of the creatures with no faces. And a figure, moving towards her, deliberately, with the light of recognition in its eyes.

Tamrin screamed and the figure stepped through the mirror into the room and seized her.

“Stop. Who are you?” she shouted.

The talk was all of kravvins.

Sam listened, sitting near enough to be part of the company, far enough not to have to join in unless he wanted to.

He had a plate of crusty bread, yellow butter and sharp cheese for company, and a tankard of cordial.

“How near are they?” he asked, and immediately put a large chunk of bread into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to say any more for a while.

“Too near.”

The men nodded and looked determined.

“It’s magic that’s made them.”

“Wizards.”

A man hawked phlegm into his throat and looked round for somewhere to spit.

“Don’t you dare, Danwick Plunt!”

Sam chewed more slowly to keep himself from the conversation. The woman behind the serving counter folded her arms and stared at the man. He looked at the empty fireplace, where he liked to spit in the winter, watching the green snot sizzle on the hot coals. She glowered. He looked down at the shining tiled floor. She leaned on the counter. He looked to his friends for support. They looked away. He moved his tongue and swallowed the slimy gob.

“There should be sawdust on the floor,” he said.

“There should be manners,” she answered. “So don’t bring your filthy tricks in here. Understand?”

Danwick took a deep drink of his beer and let the conversation continue without him. Sam felt the man’s distrust of him over his silence.

“Wizards made them,” said another. “That’s the truth of it.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re wizards. Because they can.”

“Because they can’t leave alone.”

“So they’re magic, are they? The kravvins? They can do magic like wizards?”

“Made of magic, I said. Not working magic themselves.”

Danwick couldn’t keep out of the talk for long. He was one of those who liked to be heard. Liked hearing himself more than he liked hearing others.

“They don’t need no magic,” he said. “Not they. Look at ‘em.”

“Have you seen them?”

Danwick paused and looked directly at Sam.

“You’re very quiet,” he said.

“I’m hungry.” Sam took a bite of cheese, tore off a hunk of bread and chewed them both together.

“Where are you from?”

Sam pointed to his mouth and smiled.

“Have you? Have you seen one?”

Danwick turned back to his questioner.

“Yes,” he said. “Haven’t we all?”

There were seven of them. Only Danwick and another, the youngest of them, about twenty years old, admitted that they had actually seen a kravvin. The others knew of them only by accounts from others who had escaped their raids.

“Tell us, Remmble. And Danwick, you tell us. We’ll see if you agree.”

Remmble, the younger man, had been away visiting relatives. He returned late in the evening and saw the kravvins attacking his parents’ home.

“I wanted to help them,” he said. He looked round for support. “I wanted to fight the kravvins, drive them away. I couldn’t. I hid. At first I watched. In case anyone escaped. Then I didn’t watch any more. I ran away.”

They said nothing.

“I was frightened,” he said. “See? I don’t mind telling you. I was.”

No one offered him support.

“You think I’m a coward. What could I have done?”

Sam saw the helpless need in the young man’s face, the shame. No one spoke.

“At least they killed them all,” said Remmble. “At least they’re dead. They didn’t take any of them away with them.”

He was pleading now for approval. The men looked down at the table. Remmble stood up, spilling his beer, rattling his chair on the tiles.

Danwick put his hand on the young man’s sleeve, tugged at it, brought him back to the table.

“They’re the cowards,” he said.

“What?” Remmble looked alarmed. “Speak up.”

Danwick kept his voice low so that they had to lean forward to hear him. Sam chewed as quietly as he could.

“These,” said Danwick, pointing to their companions. “They’re judging you, and they’ve never even seen a kravvin. Well, I have. Just like you did. Only you never see one. They’re like ants. You see one and you see ten, fifty.”

Remmble looked at him with gratitude.

“They’re brave enough sitting round this table,” said Danwick. “They’ll go home and they’ll say to their wives that you ran away and didn’t fight. But give them one look at a kravvin themselves and they’ll run all right.”

He stared at them.

“They’ll run, all right. You’ve never seen anything like it. Smooth faces. No faces, really. Red as rage. And they talk. Yes, you can look up and stare if you like. I know you think that part’s all been tales and fancy, but it’s not. I’ve seen them. I’ve heard them. They talk, right. And all they talk is death and killing. That’s all they know.”

He leaned back and reached for his tankard. More questions followed his outburst.

“And you think they’re made of magic, do you? Not some army come from far off?”

“That’s what they say,” said one of the others. His voice was hesitant now, after Danwick’s attack on them.

“Well I say you’re right,” said Danwick. “I say they’re made from magic. And I say we can find out. Do you know how?”

“I’m not going near them,” said the oldest.

“No need,” said Danwick. “You want to know about magic, who do you ask?”

He waited for an answer.

“Eh?” he said. “Who do you ask? I’ll tell you who you ask. You ask a wizard.”

He swung round and looked at Sam.

“Isn’t that right, boy? You want to know about magic, you ask a wizard?”

“Sounds about right,” said Sam.

“So, tell us, wizard, are the kravvins made from magic?”

“What makes you think I’m a wizard?”

Danwick laughed.

“Look at you,” he said. “You’re sitting alone, but not alone. You can hear us if you like and ask a question, but you don’t like giving an answer. Look at you. You’re with us at this table, but sitting along the settle, just a bit far off from us. You don’t join in. You don’t stay out. You’re a wizard. Now, are the kravvins made of magic or not?”

“No,” said Sam, and he ran the last of his bread over the plate, catching up the last of the butter, the scraps of cheese and the crumbs, and he put it into his mouth.

“We’ll wait,” said Danwick. “Chew away as long as you like. We’ll wait.”

“Why would someone magic them up?” one of the others asked.

Danwick signalled for him to be quiet.

“We’ll wait for the wizard,” he said. “He’s nearly finished.”

Sam couldn’t chew any longer. He swallowed, drank some cordial and sighed.

“And come closer,” Danwick ordered him. “We don’t want to have to shout, do we?”

Sam slid along and joined them at their table.

“No,” he said. “They weren’t made by magic.”

Danwick leaned forward, too close, his beery breath in Sam’s face.

“So,” he said. “You know about them?”

“No.”

There was a clatter of excited talk at table. Danwick raised his hand for silence.

“You know magic didn’t make them and you don’t know anything about them?”

“That’s right.”

Sam watched the serving woman position herself to intervene if things became too heated. He gave her a slight shake of his head.

“Tell us about the kravvins,” said Remmble. “Where did they come from?”

“Have you seen one?”

“What do they want?”

“How many are there?”

Danwick couldn’t slow the stream of questions. He sat back, annoyed at losing control. Sam waited for them to be quiet.

“I know nothing about them,” he said. “Except that they’re new and dangerous and you should stay away from them.”

A cloud of complaint rolled over him.

“We stay away.”

“It’s them that attacks.”

“They’re getting closer.”

Danwick forced his voice above theirs.

“I say,” he said, staring at Sam, “that they’re made of magic, and that we’ve got a wizard to blame for it. That’s what I say. And I say that you’re a wizard, so why should we believe you?”

Sam felt he was losing control of things. He had come here to learn about what was happening, and now he was the one being called to account. He needed to get back in charge. He leaned over the table to take Danwick’s tankard. It was nearly empty.

“What are you doing?”

Danwick tried to grab it.

Sam raised the pewter tankard, tipped it up and poured the beer out. It splashed on the table top, poured off and soaked into Danwick’s clothes. The man sprang back. The others scattered to avoid the spill.

“I just need this,” said Sam, holding the tankard aloft.

They were still protesting when he tossed the tankard into the air. It span round, more droplets of beer scattering out, splashing their faces.

He clapped his hands and whistled.

Each droplet became a slender silk ribbon, blue and green and yellow and red, shot through with silver threads that mimicked the sunlight. Where the beer had spilled on their clothes the material was threaded through with the coloured strips.

They laughed and caught at them, pulling them from their hair and faces, holding them up to see the light glance from them.

Sam watched, relieved to have averted attention from the questions. Danwick watched, grim-faced, ignoring the ribbons that dangled over his face. The men came back to their seats, safe from a soaking.

Sam held out the tankard for them and started to gather up the ribbons into it. He reached over and pulled one free from the shoulder of Remmble’s jerkin.

“Put them all back,” he said.

The men amused themselves recovering the ribbons from their clothing. Sam watched them, making sure all were replaced into the tankard. He took it by the handle, rapped it on the table top and the ribbons disappeared.

“Here’s your beer,” he said.

Danwick pushed it aside.

“I won’t drink now it’s been tricked.”

“It’s just the same as before,” said Sam.

Danwick pushed it further away.

“Magic doesn’t make anything,” said Sam. “It can change things, but it can’t make them. The kravvins weren’t made by magic.”

“What’s the difference?” Danwick demanded. “Whether a wizard made them or changed them from something else? It’s all the same in the end.”

“It’s not. Of course it’s not.”

“The kravvins are kravvins whether they’re made or changed.”

Sam stood up.

“I’m leaving now,” he said.

No one offered him a goodbye.

They watched in silence as he paid for his meal. He ignored their stares. His hand was on the door when Danwick said, louder than he needed to for his companions to hear, “They say Flaxfield made the kravvins. That’s why he disappeared.”

Sam stood with his hand still on the door, ready to open it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said.

His back was to the men.

Danwick grinned at his friends.

“That’s what they say,” he said. “Flaxfield’s at Boolat, making the kravvins.”

Sam’s fingers hurt from gripping the door so tightly.

“I was with Flaxfield the day he died,” he said.

“Speak up.”

“You heard me.”

“Flaxfield disappeared. Then the next thing you know, villages are in flames. People killed and eaten, taken away. Never seen again.”

Sam listened, his back to Danwick. He could see through the window to his left the shape of a dragon in the sky. He changed the focus of his mind, as you change the focus of your eyes to see through a window or on to the glass. With Danwick’s voice still in his ears he looked down through dragon’s eyes to the inn beneath. He circled and keeled to the right, circled again.