The Pinhoe Egg (20 page)

The trouble was, it was only the
one
curtain. There was no opening, the way there was with window curtains, where you take hold of the two sides and pull them apart. Cat could not see himself tearing trees and grass and bushes in two. Even if he
could
, it would kill everything. No. The only thing to do seemed to be to find the edge of the curtain, wherever that was, and pull it from there.

He looked for the edge. There was
miles
of this curtain. Like a sheet of rubbery gauze, it stretched and stretched, out across the country, out across the continent, over the oceans, right to the edges of the world. He had to stretch and stretch himself to get near it, and the rubbery edge kept slipping away from his imaginary clutching fingers. Cat clenched his teeth and stretched himself more, just that little bit further. And at last his reaching left hand closed on the thin, slippery edge of it. He put both hands to it
and hauled. It would hardly budge. Someone had pegged it down really firmly. Even when the unicorn came and rested her horn gently on Cat's shoulder, Cat could only move the thing an inch or so.

“Try asking the prisoners to help,” the unicorn murmured.

“Good idea,” Cat panted. Still hanging on to the distant end of the curtain, he pushed his mind into the empty blue distance behind it, and it was not empty. The ones inside were all swarming, drifting, and anxiously clustering toward the other side of the curtain. “Pull, pull!” he whispered to them. “Help me
pull
!” It was so like making Syracuse pull down the barrier that he almost offered them peppermint.

But they needed no bribery. They were frantic to get out now. They swooped on the place where Cat's imaginary hands were clutched, in a storm of small, fierce strangenesses, and fastened on beside Cat and heaved. Beside Cat, the unicorn put her horn down and heaved too.

The curtain tore. First it came away in a long strip across the middle, making Cat stagger back into the unicorn. Then it tore downward, then
diagonally, as more and more eager creatures inside clawed and hauled and pulled at it. Finally it began flopping down in wobbly dead heaps, which folded in on themselves and melted. Cat could actually smell it as it melted. The smell was remarkably like the disinfectant spell Euphemia had used on the stairs. But this smell was overwhelmed almost at once by a sweet, wild scent from the myriad beings who came whirring out past Cat's face and fled away into the landscape. Cat thought it was, just a little, like the incense smell from the meadows by the river.

“Done it, I think!” he gasped at the unicorn. He slid down her hairy side and sat on the bank with a bump. He was weak with effort. But he was glad to see that the trees of the wood were still there. It would have been a mistake to have tried to tear the wood in half.

“You have,” the unicorn said. “Thank you.” Her horn gently touched Cat's forehead. It smelled like the meadows too.

When Cat recovered and sat up properly, he saw that the old man was still talking earnestly with Marianne. But he knew what had been going on. His bright brown eyes kept turning
appreciatively to the woods, although he now had the pan on his knees and was feeding a soothing mushroom to Marianne and then some bacon to Klartch, as if there was no difference between them.

“But, Gaffer,” Cat heard Marianne say, “if you've been trapped here all these years, where do you get your bacon from?”

“Your uncle Cedric puts it through the barrier for me,” Gaffer said. “And eggs. They all know I'm here, you know, but Cedric's the only one who thinks I might need feeding.”

While they talked, the wood was making a great rustling and heaving. Like a sail filling with wind, it seemed to be filling with life around them. Cat looked down and saw, almost between his knees, a multitude of tiny green beings milling and welling out of the ground. Other, bigger ones flitted at the corners of his eyes. When he looked across the road, he could see strange gawky creatures stalking among the trees and small airborne ones darting from bush to bush. There seemed to be a tall green woman walking dreamily through a distant patch of sunlight. Someone came up behind Cat—all he could see of him or her was a
very thin brown leg—and bent over to whisper, “Thank you. None of us are going to forget.” He or she was gone when Cat turned his head.

Hooves sounded on the mossy road. The unicorn, who was now standing head to tail with Syracuse, presumably having the talk she had promised, looked up at the sound. “Ah,” she said. “Here comes my daughter, free at last. Thank you, Cat.”

Cat and Marianne both found themselves standing up as a splendid young unicorn dashed along the road and stopped beside the old man's cart. She was small and lissome and silvery, with quantities of white mane and tail. Cat could see she was very young because her horn was the merest creamy stub on her forehead. Syracuse, at the sight of her, began to prance and sidle and make himself look magnificent.

“Ah, no,” the old unicorn said. “She's still only a yearling, Syracuse. She's been a yearling for more than a thousand years. Give her a chance to grow up now.”

The small unicorn ignored Syracuse anyway and trotted lovingly up to her mother.

“Beautiful!” Gaffer said admiringly. He put
the food down on the grass for Klartch and leaned over to concentrate on the young unicorn.

Klartch, to Cat's surprise, turned away from the food and went shambling and stumbling across the road, making squeaks and hoots and long quavering whistles. The sounds were answered from inside the wood by a deeper whistling, like a trill on an oboe. A blot of darkness that Cat had taken for a holly brake stirred and stretched and moved out into the road, where she lifted great gray wings and put her enormous horn-colored beak down to meet Klartch. Cat knew it was the creature that had landed on his tower before Klartch was hatched. She was surprisingly graceful for something that huge, gray and white from her sleek feathered head to her lionlike furry body and swinging tufted tail. She lifted a feathered foot with six-inch talons on the end and gently, very gently, pulled Klartch in under one of her enormous wings.

She was Klartch's mother, of course. For the first time in his life, Cat knew what it was like to be truly and wretchedly miserable. Before, when he had been miserable, Cat had mostly felt lost and peevish. But now, when he was going to lose
Klartch, he felt a blinding heartache that not only devastated his mind but gave him a real, actual pain somewhere in the center of his chest. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, when he heaved up a difficult breath and said, “Klartch ought to go with you now.”

The mother griffin drew her beak back from Klartch squirming and squeaking under her wing and turned her enormous yellow eyes on Cat. Cat could see she was as sad as he was. “Oh, no,” she said in her deep, trilling voice. “You hatched him. I'd prefer you to bring him up. He needs a proper education. Griffins are meant to be as learned and wise as they are magical. He ought to have teaching that I never had.”

Gaffer said, rather reproachfully, “I did my best to teach you.”

“Yes, you did,” the mother griffin replied. She smiled at Gaffer with the ends of her beak. “But you could only teach me when I got out at full moon, Gaffer man. I hope you can teach me all the time now, but I'd like Klartch to have an enchanter's upbringing.”

“So be it,” Gaffer said. He said to Cat, “Can you do that for her?”

“Yes,” Cat said, and then added bravely, “It depends what Klartch wants, though.”

Klartch seemed surprised that anyone should question what he wanted. He dived out from under the griffin's big wing and scuttled over to Cat, where he leaned heavily against Cat's legs and wiped his beak against Cat's riding boots. “Mine,” he said. “Cat mine.”

The pain lifted from Cat's chest like magic. He smiled—because he couldn't help it—across at Klartch's mother. “I really will look after him,” he promised.

“That's settled, then,” Gaffer said, warm and approving. “Marianne, my pet, would you do me the favor of running down to the village and telling your dad I'll be along shortly to sort things out? He won't be too pleased, I'm afraid, so tell him I insisted. I'll follow you when I've tidied up here.”

N
ow that Marianne was leaving, Cat realized that he ought to be going too. Joss Callow would have complained to Chrestomanci by this time. He went up to the big griffin and held his hand out politely. She rubbed it with her great beak. “May I visit Klartch from time to time?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” Cat said. “Any time.” He hoped Chrestomanci wouldn't mind too much—he hoped Chrestomanci wouldn't mind too much about all of it. He would have to confess what he had done to Mr. Farleigh sometime soon. He decided not to think about that yet.

When he turned round, Syracuse was stamping irritably because his saddle and bridle were
back. Marianne was staring at the two unicorns.

“Gaffer,” she said, “when did old Molly turn into a unicorn?”

Gaffer looked up from cleaning out his pan. “She always was one, pet. She chose not to let people see it.”

“Oh,” Marianne said. She was very quiet, thinking about this, as she walked along the mossy road with Cat and Syracuse. The old gray mare who took Luke Pinhoe to London and then came back on her own—had that been Molly too? Unicorns lived for hundreds of years, they said. Marianne wished she knew.

Cat was letting Klartch bumble along behind them since the surface suited his feet so well. Around them, the woods were full of green distances that had not been there before and alive with rushings, rustlings, and small half-heard voices. There was laughter too, some of it plain joyful, some of it mean and mocking.

Marianne said to Cat, “You've let all the hidden folk out, haven't you?”

Cat nodded. He was not going to apologize, even to Chrestomanci, about that.

Marianne said, “My family are going to be
furious with you. They fuss all the time that it's their sacred task to keep them in.”

A particularly mocking and malevolent laugh rang out among the trees as Marianne said this. “Some of them don't sound very nice,” she added, looking that way uneasily.

“Some humans aren't very nice either,” Cat said.

Marianne thought of Great-Uncle Edgar and Aunt Joy and said, “True.”

The road ran out into strong daylight a moment later. They found themselves on a rocky headland, looking down on Ulverscote across a long green meadow. They were above the church tower here and could see down into the main street over the roof of the Pinhoe Arms. It was quiet and empty because everyone was indoors having lunch.

This rocky bit, Cat thought, was the part of Ulverscote Wood that he and Roger had kept seeing when they tried to get to it before. While they waited for Klartch to catch up, he looked out the other way, across the wide countryside, over humping hills, hedges, and the white winding road, wondering if he could see the Castle from here.

He saw a most peculiar bristling black cloud coming across the nearest hill. It spread across a stubble field on one side and a pasture on the other, and it appeared to be trickling and wobbling along the road too. It was rushing toward them almost as fast as a car could go. An angry buzzing sort of sound came with it.

“What on earth is that?” he said to Marianne. “A swarm of huge wasps?”

Marianne looked, and went pale. “Oh, my lord!” she said. “It's the Farleighs. On broomsticks and bicycles.”

Cat could see it was people now: angry, determined women of all ages whizzing along on broomsticks and equally angry men and boys pedaling furiously along the road.

Marianne said, “I must go down and warn everyone!” and set off at a run down the meadow.

But it was too late. Before Marianne had gone three steps, the horde of Farleighs had swept down into Ulverscote and the place was black with them. Yelling with fury and triumph, the broomstick riders sprang off onto their feet, lofted their brooms, and began smashing windows with the butt ends. The cyclists arrived,
braking and howling, and threw powdered spells in through the smashed windows. Inside the houses, Pinhoes screamed.

At the screams, a whole crowd of Pinhoe men, who must have been having lunch in the inn, came swarming out of the Pinhoe Arms, carrying stools and chairs and small tables. Marianne saw Uncle Charles there, brandishing a chair leg, and Uncle Arthur charging in front with a coatrack. They all fell on the cyclists, whacking mightily. More Pinhoes poured into the street from the houses, and others leaned out of upstairs windows and threw things and tipped things upon the Farleighs.

Round the smashed windows of the grocer's and the chemist's, there were instant battles. Feet crunched in broken glass there, cheeses and big bottles were hurled. Broomsticks walloped. In almost no time, the main street was a fighting tangle of bent bicycles and shouting, screaming people. Marianne could see Gammer Norah Farleigh at the back of the fight, yelling her troops on and cracking an enormous horsewhip.

Down the hill at the other end, Aunt Joy raced out of the Post Office carrying a long bar of
scaffolding like a lance and screaming curses. Uncle Isaac and Uncle Richard were pelting up behind her. Marianne saw her parents running behind them. Mum was carrying her new broom, and Dad seemed to be waving a saw. Nicola's mother came out of her house dressed in her best, on her way to visit Nicola, screamed, went in and slammed her door. Up the hill at the other end, Great-Uncle Lester, who was coming in his car to give Nicola's mother a lift to the hospital, bared his teeth and drove straight at the back of Gammer Norah. She saw him coming in time and levitated to the roof of his car, where she rode screaming, cracking her whip and trying to break his wind-screen with her broomstick. Uncle Lester drove slowly on regardless, trying to run over Farleighs, but mostly running over bicycles instead.

Behind the car, Great-Uncle Edgar and Great-Aunt Sue, who must have been out exercising their dogs, were arriving at a tired trot. They were surrounded by exhausted dogs, who were mostly too fat and tired to bite Farleighs, although Great-Aunt Sue shrieked at them to “Bite, bite, bite!” They settled for barking instead.

The Reverend Pinhoe appeared on the
churchyard wall, waving a censer of smoking incense on a chain and making prayerful gestures. When that made no difference to the struggling mayhem in the street below him, he swung the censer at any Farleigh head he could reach. There were clangs and terrible cries. And down near the Post Office, Marianne's parents had entered the fray, Mum batting with her broom and Dad swinging the flat of the saw at any Farleigh near. Even above the noise of the rest, Marianne could hear the dreadful
ker-blatt SWAT
from Dad's saw. And she and Cat both winced at what Aunt Joy was doing with her scaffolding pole.

They both turned their eyes away to the upper end of the village again. There, behind the row of yelping dogs, the long black car from the Castle edged cautiously out of the gates of Woods House and crawled to a halt at the back of the battle, as if Millie, who was driving it, was at a loss to know what to do. Nearly a thousand fighting witches seemed a bit much even for an enchantress as strong as Millie.

“Do something!
Do
something!” Marianne implored Cat.

Nearly a thousand fighting witches were a bit
much for Cat too. And he was not going to take Syracuse and Klartch in among that lot. But someone was going to be killed soon if he didn't do
something
. That man with the saw down the hill was starting to hit people with the edge of it. There was blood down that end of the street. A giant stasis might stop it, Cat thought. But what happened when he took the stasis
off
?

All the same, Cat drew in his power, as he had been taught, in order to cast the stasis. He almost had enough when, with a violent clattering and screams of “I belong to Chrestomanci Castle!” the flying machine swept in from above the Post Office. The faces of the fighters turned upward in alarm as it clapped and flapped and shouted its swift way over their heads.

A giant voice, magically amplified and accompanied by a steady chant of “I belong to Chrestomanci Castle!” shouted, “OUT OF THE WAY! We're CRASHING!”

Everyone dived to the sides of the street. The machine did not so much crash as simply keep on in a straight line. It seemed to get lower with every flap of the jointed tables, but in fact it was the street that got steeper and the flying machine
just flew into it. It landed with a great clatter and a tremendous crunching of bicycles underneath, exactly opposite the Pinhoe Arms. The chanting from the broken furniture faded to a murmur. Joe and Roger sat back gasping. Joe was without his shirt, and both were covered with sweat. Roger's hair was so dark with perspiration that, for a moment, he looked quite strikingly like his father.

Every person there was able to make that comparison quite easily. Chrestomanci stood up among the tangle of chairs at the back of the machine. Chrestomanci's left arm was in a bloodstained sling that seemed to have been Joe's shirt, and his smooth gray jacket was torn. He looked very unwell, but no one had any doubt who he was. Pinhoes and Farleighs, panting, with hair hanging over their faces and, in some cases, blood running down among the hair, stopped fighting and said to one another, “It's the Big Man! That's torn it!”

Cat sighed and sent his gathered magic off as a goodwill spell. “Mr. Farleigh shot him!” he said to Marianne.

Marianne merely nodded and went running
off down the meadow, making for the alleyway beside the Pinhoe Arms. As she ran, she could hear tinny bongings as Gammer Norah trampled up and down the roof of Great-Uncle Lester's car, shouting, “Don't you dare interfere! We don't need you from the Castle! These Pinhoes turned our Gaffer into a stone tree! So keep out of it!”

“I believe you have made a serious error there, ma'am,” Chrestomanci replied.

When Marianne hurtled out of the other end of the alley into the street, Gammer Norah was still shouting. Her hair had come down from its bun into a sort of wad on one shoulder. What with that, and her long eyes narrowed with rage, she looked as menacingly witchy as a person could. But Chrestomanci was just standing there, waiting for her to stop. The moment Gammer Norah had to pause to take a breath, he said, “I suggest you join me in the Pinhoe Arms to discuss the matter.”

Gammer Norah drew herself up to her full squat height. “I will not! I have never been inside a public house in my life!”

“In the inn yard, then,” Chrestomanci said. He climbed out of the flying machine, which seemed
to settle and spread once he was out of it. As Marianne rushed up to it, she could hear all the chairs, stools, tables, and even the feather duster at the tail, still whispering that they belonged to Chrestomanci Castle.

“Are you all right?” she asked Joe. He looked almost as pale as Chrestomanci.

Joe stared up at her as if she was a nightmare. “He
shot
him!” he said hoarsely. “Gaffer Farleigh shot the Big Man! We had to land on Crowhelm Top and do first aid. He was bleeding in
spurts
, Marianne. I'd never done a real healing before. I thought he was going to die. I was
scared
.”

Marianne said soothingly, “But he's got nine lives, Joe.”

Roger looked up at her. “No, he hasn't. He's only got two left, and he could have been down to just the one. I was scared too.”

Meanwhile, all around them, Farleighs were sullenly separating from Pinhoes, picking up bicycles and broomsticks and kicking them into working order. Two particularly hefty Farleigh men came and stood beside the flying machine. “You're on top of our bikes,” one of them said, in a way that suggested trouble.

At this Chrestomanci came and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. He gave Marianne a long, vague look as he said, “You two get yourselves back to the Castle now.” Joe and Roger both groaned at the thought of further effort. “Well, you
are
blocking the main road,” Chrestomanci said, “and these gentlemen need their bicycles.”

“Who are you calling gentlemen?” the Farleigh man demanded.

“Not you, obviously,” Chrestomanci said. “Roger, tell Miss Bessemer to give you both hot, sweet tea and then lunch, and ask her to send Tom and Miss Rosalie here to me at once. Miss Rosalie is to bring the folder from my study, the blue one.” His bright dark eyes met Marianne's, making her jump. “Young lady, would you mind very much giving them a strong boost to get them airborne? I see you have the power. And you,” he added to the Farleigh men, “please stand clear.”

Marianne nodded, highly surprised. As the Farleigh men grudgingly moved back, Joe and Roger exchanged a look of misery and Joe said, “Right. One, two, three.” The two of them began pedaling. The three-legged stool revolved on the front and the machine trembled all over.

Help! Marianne thought. How do you boost? There was no charm for this any more than there was for pulling the barrier down. She supposed she had better do it the way Cat had told her, by willing.

She willed, hard and ignorantly. The flying machine went straight upward, with a mighty clattering and a scream of “I belong to Chrestomanci Castle!” It tipped left wing downward, and the bent bicycle that had been caught in the woodwork clanged out of it, almost on top of the Farleigh it belonged to.

“Straighten her out!” Joe shrieked.

Marianne did her best, Roger did
his
best, and Joe swayed himself madly to the right. Marianne realized what to do and gave them another boost, forward this time. The pieces of table began to flap at last and the machine sailed forward up the hill, forcing Gammer Norah to slide quickly off Uncle Lester's car or be smacked on the head. The machine then swayed sideways the other way, to only just miss the Castle car as it crept downhill toward the Pinhoe Arms, and then pitched the other way to skim across the heads of Uncle Cedric and Aunt Polly, who were arriving
too late, both perched on the same cart horse. After that it straightened out and went majestically flapping, creaking, and whispering over the chimneys of Woods House. Most of Aunt Sue's dogs decided it was the real enemy and went off up the road after it, yapping fit to burst.