The Queen and the Nobody Boy (22 page)

The dragon-eagle was slumped on a few broken branches as if it had tried to build a nest. Its coronet of feathers was limp and dull. There was no sign of the silver-green glow Hodie remembered from the Palace garden. Its eyes were half-closed. The air was so still that Hodie heard a dull metallic rustle as the scale-feathers lifted and settled.

Prowdd'on gave a shout of triumph. His commander echoed (of course) and the dragon-eagle raised its head. For a moment Hodie saw how strong and beautiful it must have been when it was young. Although it was weak now, it was still magnificent. It reached a lion-like paw towards another branch, sunk its claws in and dragged it closer.

Emperor Prowdd'on shoved Commander Gree'sle. Gree'sle urged an officer towards the dragon-eagle. The officer took three steps, the dragon-eagle half-reared up, and the man faltered.

Then Prowdd'on elbowed Sibilla. In the strange stillness of the bowl, Hodie heard every word. “You said you had to come here. If you capture it for me, then maybe I let you go.”

“There's no point in capturing it just before it dies.” Sibilla sounded close to tears but angry too.

The dragon-eagle slumped again.

Prowdd'on gestured to Gree'sle, who gestured to a soldier to fasten manacles on Sibilla. She held her arms out, wrists together, and gave the soldier a tiny royal nod. The soldier bowed before he clicked the handcuffs on her. None of them had noticed Hodie yet.

With a rough grip on the little Queen's arm, the Emperor pulled her to stand just below the rim. Sibilla looked only at the dragon-eagle, in a way that twisted Hodie's heart. She wrung her hands, and he heard the faint chink of handcuffs like an echo of the dragon-eagle's scales. How must she feel? The young dragon-eagle was caged inside the mountain with a broken wing, and the old dragon-eagle here … Hodie finally believed in magic utterly, and he was looking at it dying.

The silence in the bowl began to fill with a faint buzzing and Hodie knew that this place was not quite part of the real world. An ordinary boy had no place here. But he stayed where he was.

The dragon-eagle eyed Sibilla beneath its drooping lids. It moved its paw, moved it again – what was it doing?

Sibilla raised the handcuffs in front of her and stepped down into the grassy bowl. The buzzing increased and pulsed, and it seemed the air was waiting.

“What can I do?” she asked.

The creature bowed its head.

“You want more branches?” asked Sibilla. “I can't lift much with my hands like this …”

There was a small green flash, and the manacles chimed as they fell from her wrists. She looked astonished, as if she was waking from some long dream. “Oh …” She bowed to the dragon-eagle. “Thank you.” The creature nodded and slumped again.

“More handcuffs!” said the Emperor.

Commander Gree'sle clicked his fingers. A soldier pulled another set of manacles out of his pocket.

Princessa Lu'nedda snatched them off him. “Father! Give little Queen her chance.”

Prowdd'on shrugged. Hodie supposed the Emperor knew he'd won, whatever happened.

Sibilla glanced at Lu'nedda. She didn't smile, but the glance said thank you. Lu'nedda bowed a little. Sibilla tugged at a broken branch, heaved it beside the dragon-eagle and brushed her hands.

“But this won't be enough,” she said.

The creature's eyes closed. Sorrow seeped from its coronet of feathers like a dull mist, the green of shadows in moonlight just after the sun has sunk out of sight, colour begins fading from the hills and the evening wind's deciding what to do.

Green, of course
, thought Hodie.
The Queen needs to use the green tangle
.
She'll think of it, any second
.

Sibilla's head lifted, and she glanced in his direction. She looked so relieved it hurt his heart. She flung the dressing gown away so she was just in the tattered pyjamas, and slipped the bag off over her neck.

“You didn't check what she had with her?” Prowdd'on shouted at Gree'sle.

“I have told you for years, Gree'sle is useless except for carrying Roar-juice,” Lu'nedda said.

Sibilla drew the bag open. The pale green tangle sprang out into her hands. The dragon-eagle raised its ancient head and sighed.

The mist swirled in tendrils and that sweet scent filled the air. Ropes and coils of mist floated like nooses around Prowdd'on and his Commander, and over their mouths, around the soldiers, and it looked as though they couldn't move or didn't dare. But Sibilla walked in a circle around the dragon-eagle, strewing strands of the green tangle into the few branches and twigs beneath the creature. The tendrils twisted and darkened at once. She brought out the pouch, and scattered the remaining seeds as well. Roots thrust down into the soil. Within moments the dragon-eagle was surrounded by a living nest that grew white flowers like roses, glowing and fragrant.

Hodie's heart began to hammer. Those roots looked so tough even the strongest gales couldn't carry this nest away. How would the dragon-eagle escape?

Slowly, painfully, the creature sank down in the centre of the nest. Sibilla stretched out a hand, and the dragon-eagle raised its head to touch her fingers with the tip of its mighty beak.

Mist settled around the nest, around her feet, like a carpet of silvery green feathers.

~
Queen
~ the dragon-eagle said ~
it is time
~

“I'm not really a Queen,” Sibilla said. She didn't look it either, a lonely scared figure in torn pyjamas, hair a dull and tangled mop.

The dragon-eagle tipped its head to look at her. ~
Royal baby, royal girl and royal woman
~ chimed the voice.

Emperor Prowdd'on wrested his head away from the rope of mist with a laugh of disdain. “A Queen has a crown!” The mist muffled him again.

The dragon-eagle eyed the Emperor. Without taking its gaze off Prowdd'on, it touched its paw to the side of the tattered bag in Sibilla's hand. There was a tearing sound, and the silver map was in its grasp.

The creature beckoned Hodie with its lion's paw and held out the map. ~
Fold the crown
~ rang the voice.

Hodie found he'd stood up from hiding.

~
You are the Queen's Companion and Guardian of The Ties
~ the creature said.

Hodie stumbled with shock. Even if he hadn't known he was the Companion or Guardian? Even if he was nobody, and it had happened by accident, and he'd been trying to head south all along? Well – he didn't dare make any objection to such a creature at such a time.

Trembling, he walked down into the bowl, close enough to take the map, to feel the soft metal feathers on the dragon-eagle's paw, to see the silver claws and feel its breath on his forehead. His hands shook so much he thought the silver map would rip to pieces, but he folded it in half, in half again lengthways, then half again, and again to make a long strip. He folded one end over the other so it made a tiny peak like the top of a star.

~
Well done
~ chimed the voice that was no voice.

Hodie held out the circle. The creature breathed on it, and there, in its claws, was a crown of silver etched with feathers.

The Emperor struggled against the ropes of mist but they held firm. Up by the carriages, Murgott stamped in a piratical dance of pure excitement. “You wanted magic, now you're seein' it!” he cried.

The dragon-eagle held the crown out for Sibilla, but she took a step back.

“It's yours, Sibilla,” called Lu'nedda.

Sibilla seemed to have a little argument inside her head and then she bowed. The crown floated from the dragon-eagle's claw and rested on her tangled hair. Hodie was very afraid he might cry, so he bit the inside of his cheek till the feeling passed.

The buzzing in the air grew more intense.

~
Now
~ said the dragon-eagle. With a terrible effort, the creature raised a paw and dragged at its chest over its heart. It plucked a feather and held it out. On its glowing point was a drop of jasper-red blood.

Sibilla hesitated again as if she was listening to a voice inside her. She reached into the bag and brought out the rusty old cup. She dropped the bag and took the feather from the dragon-eagle, held it up and bowed to the creature. Then she stuck the quill into the cup.

When she drew it out, a tiny flame of green burned at the tip. She held it high. The air was still and the flame soon brightened.

~
Trust me
~ rang the ancient voice of the dragon-eagle.

“Trust me,” the little Queen echoed, and touched the green fire to the nest.

There was a great cry from the dragon-eagle. It spread its wings. Flames raced around the circle of the nest. Hodie flung an arm up for protection, but even as he backed away he realised the flames reached only upwards. They made a fiery crown, branches of green fire, gold fire, silver, so high they scorched the edges of the clouds.

~

The shape of the dragon-eagle crumpled and flaked like paper, diminished to ashes. Shreds of black edged with red sparks flew about like fiery moths. Hodie saw Sibilla shuddering, her face wet with tears. Hodie was shaking too, on hands and knees in the rough grass.

“Wait,” he heard the Queen say to him, her voice hoarse. “Wait.” She wiped her face on the sleeve of the pink pyjamas.

The roar of the flames died down. The nest was nothing but a blackened twist. No embers glowed.

“This is wrong!” bellowed Prowdd'on on the rim of the hill. “I wanted it! I have one but I wanted two!”

Hodie knew down to his bones now what was coming.

Another roar began to build, up, up. It was the roar of the four winds, which pounced and plunged over the rim from every quarter and breathed on the nest.

In the ashes one silver ember flared, then seven, then more, like tiny stars. The winds dropped to gentle breathing. Sibilla's hands lifted to urge the new flames on. They glowed and came together in a fiery flower of silver, blue and green, gold, that grew larger and larger. Something started to form in the petals of flame – a curve like wings, a shape like a coronet, a spreading tail. A young dragon-eagle lifted from the fiery flower into the sky. A little unsteady, supported by four now-gentle winds, it circled the hill on its new wings, silver voice in a chiming song.

For a moment, Hodie thought everything would be all right.

But the ropes of mist around the Um'Binnians were beginning to break up.

“Shoot it!” Prowdd'on bellowed. “Gree'sle! Kill it! Capture it! Shoot the dragon-eagle down!”

“Make your mind up!” cried a soldier.

“Rebel!” Gree'sle pointed his sword as well as a pistol. “Under arrest! Court martial!”

The dragon-eagle opened its beak and sent a green flame to scorch Gree'sle's hat. The Commander ducked. A squirt of flame nearly hit Prowdd'on. But the dragon-eagle was too new to have much control yet. It tried again and there was only a spark.

The Princessa struggled down from the rim of the mount. Hodie readied himself to shove her back, but Lu'nedda took Sibilla's arm exactly like a royal sister. “Call the dragon-eagle down,” she said. “You have to hurry.”

The wind tugged Sibilla's hair. Her pyjama trousers flapped. “Call it down? I can't! They'll kill it!”

“For goodness sake. You are Queen Sibilla.” Lu'nedda said it with a strange stern look (very much like Ogg'ward, actually) and gave her royal sister's arm a shake. “Call the dragon-eagle. Hope that it is strong enough to rescue its companion, and your brother and his fiancée. If you do not, my father will rule your country as well as mine. Is that what any sensible woman or man wants?”

“Definitely not,” Sibilla said.

Hodie scrambled out of the way fast. The little Queen called up to the dragon-eagle. With a chiming of feathers it soared down beside her. The winds tossed Sibilla's hair about and gusted with such force that it was impossible for Hodie to hear what she said, though the new crown stayed on tight. The dragon-eagle let out a fierce cry, then lowered its head to Sibilla.

She ducked away and grabbed up the drawstring bag. Why? None of The Ties were left in it.

Before Hodie could call out to her that Murgott's notebook was not a treasure, Sibilla was back beside the dragon-eagle. It scooped her onto its back. She grasped the feathers at the base of its neck, and the wings started to fan out behind her. The dragon-eagle tipped its head as if it asked for her encouragement. She stroked its neck.

The winds roared, the dragon-eagle rose up. In a few beats, the creature had swept the little Queen so high in the smoky sky that all Hodie could see was a blur soaring in the direction of Um'Binnia.

~

In the bottom of the bowl, the air was still. The mist had disappeared, though a sweet smell lingered, along with drifts of ordinary smoke. Hodie crouched again behind a clump of grass and watched the Um'Binnians regroup. The Emperor snapped out orders. Gree'sle handcuffed Lu'nedda and thrust her into the biggest carriage, and the Emperor climbed in after her. The officers shouted to each other about wind speed, and air-lift, and took spanners and adjustable wrenches to some mechanism beneath the carriage.

Murgott, still manacled, lay on his belly in the long grass. He jerked his head, and Hodie wriggled over to him.

“They're sending Prowdd'on directly to Um'Binnia,” Murgott growled. “They say if the wind holds, they can lift from here and reach a speed at least as fast as the dragon-eagle.” He struggled onto his side. “My pocket-knife, boy. Get the cuffs off me. Use the lock-pick.”

By the time Hodie had freed the Corporal (fast), the carriage had been transformed into a wind-ship (equally fast).

“So you believe in magic now, boy.” Murgott rubbed at his wrists and flexed his hands. “But the fight's not over. Let me tell you straight, from the heart of a man who has lived with the most evil set of villains you could wish to avoid – from a man who has drunk the dregs of bad behaviour and relished each drop. I tell you, hope is the source of magic. Hope's a gift, boy, from a generous and loving heart. The little Queen has such a heart. She's had it since she was two years old. And a generous heart is better than the most vast of treasure hoards the world could hold.”

The Corporal's words made Hodie wonder why his poetry wasn't better.

“I thank you, boy, for your service to the little Queen. And now …” Murgott took back his pocket-knife. “Goodbye, sir.” Murgott crawled off as if he was a large spy beetle.

So – Hodie had been called “sir” and yet the Corporal had dismissed him. The little Queen had not even said goodbye. It felt like a kick in the stomach – but only if he let it. It was all right. He'd done a good job, even if it was mostly by accident. And Queen Sibilla had come into her magic, or as close as she ever might. Hodie wondered if she'd be satisfied. He would hear news of her as he lived his quiet life. He hoped she would succeed in this last bit of the struggle. But yes, his part in it was done. He'd found out about his parents – all three of them, which had been a surprise. He might never altogether forgive his mother, but he figured that was fair enough. He might actually miss her a bit, but he had always coped.

So now he was on his own, free to go south. To go anywhere. To find work. Find a place to call home. It was Queen Sibilla who was unlucky. She still had jobs to do: join her brother and the injured dragon-eagle in Um'Binnia, deal with the war, and rule with her brother – that is, if the Fontanians won. But that was her set of problems. Not Hodie's.

The military carriage was ready for take-off. The wind-sails were hoisted. Any second the wind would pick it up and send it soaring for Um'Binnia.

If somebody wanted to, they could stow away. If somebody thought his arms were strong enough, he could cling to the carriage axle. He'd have to cling for at least an hour of land, then over the Great Salt Moat. It would be unwise for a boy scared of heights. It would be the most foolish thing that any boy could do.

But if he was a Companion and a Guardian, there was actually a big job still to be finished.

Hodie stood up and looked south. The sky was eggshell blue and sunshine painted the hills with a golden wash. Then he turned and sprinted for the wind-carriage, kicked a leg over the back axle and hunched into the wheel well.

Chuk!
said something tucked at the other end of the axle.

Hodie had lost count of the number of times he'd been impressed by that squirrel. He hoped it was holding on with every claw. Perhaps it had a serious job to finish too.

~