Legacy of the Claw Page 3

Normally, Gwen would have laughed. But instead she gripped the strap of her rucksack tightly and steeled herself.

  “I’m coming with you to the Seers’ land.”

  The Elder didn’t stop packing. He didn’t even look at her.

  “My rain cape has also gone missing, it seems … ” he murmured.

  Gwen peeled away from the doorway and located his rain cape, which was inexplicably balled up under his bed. She stuffed it into the traveling bag on the desk for him.

  “I worry about you,” Gwen couldn’t stop from blurting out, even though she knew she could say nothing to stop him from leaving the palace. “You need me with you.”

  The Elder rested his eyes on her momentarily. “You’re right, child. I do need you. But I need you here. I need your eyes on Parliament while I’m gone. There’s no longer any doubt in my mind that Viviana is taking steps to overthrow them.” He lowered his voice. “Her Dominae party becomes larger every day.”

  The Elder sorted through the random pile of objects he’d recovered from a cupboard under the bookshelves: a shoehorn, a bundle of maps tied with string, and finally—

  “Aha!” he crowed, tossing the boots toward Gwen, who caught them and set them beside his bag.

  “Since her reappearance here in the city, Viviana has let her anger and stubbornness guide her. As Melore’s daughter, I had some hope that her emergence might mean a return of prosperity for Aldermere, after so many years of the Jackal’s rule. Parliament was right to chase the Jackal from power—but they’ve lost their way. When Melore presided over them, Parliament was efficient and fair. Now there’s so much corruption. We take from the people, and yet nothing is accomplished, no progress at all … We need a real leader.” He straightened up and moved over to the shelves. On one of them stood a silk toy piglet, which looked as if it had once been loved dearly. The Elder picked it up and ran a finger along its stitched back.

  “Those were better days,” he said quietly, and Gwen knew that he was remembering Viviana as a child. He’d told her about Viviana—beautiful and stubborn, with untamable black hair and curious, violet eyes. She could imagine the young princess, before her father’s murder, clutching the silk toy as she ran about the halls of the palace.

  He sighed. “For so long the people have believed in a half-cooked prophecy about the return of a true leader—and I admit, when Viviana first announced her return to the city, I myself almost believed those rumors. But her behavior, her cruel ideas about Dominance—she’s not the child I knew. She has nothing in common with her father. I’m convinced that she is beyond my help, or my friendship.” He shook his head, regret written plainly on his thin, weathered face. “If only her brother had lived—” The Elder’s voice broke. It obviously still pained him to think of Trent, the child he could not save, who had burned along with half of the palace.

  Gwen shivered, and placed her hand on his arm.

  “If so much troubles you here in the city, why leave? The Seers haven’t spoken to anyone in years. Some say—some say there are no Seers left.” She swallowed.

  The Elder patted her hand warmly, cleared his voice, and continued. “I must go to the Statue of the Twins, where the Seers once resided. Clears my mind. There are rumors of unrest in the forests and the Lowlands as well. I must seek out what allies we may have left.”

  “All the more reason I should go with you! You’ll need someone to protect you,” she said, even though she knew what his answer would be.

  He shook his head. His gray hair was tufted like the feathers of one of their owls. “You must stay here and make sure that no one tries to take over my study again, eh?”

  Gwen nodded stiffly. The Elder’s joke did not seem funny to her. For too long the Parliament had been divided. Some senators wanted to bleed out the corruption and elect a new monarch; others wanted absolute power for themselves, and often bought and received favors in order to get it. Chambers in the palace seemed to shift as often as allegiances. After many years of occupying a study near the royal apartment, the Elder had been shuffled out and up, into a cramped tower that looked out over the ports and the harbor market of the Fluvian river. Every time the wind blew from the south, it caused the tower to sway slightly, and carried with it the pungent smell of fish.

  The Elder moved to the desk and opened the smallest drawer.

  “Here,” he said. Gwen watched, surprised, as the Elder pulled the drawer completely out from the desk, revealing a hidden compartment. The Elder set the drawer on the desk and removed a thin leather box, only as long as the palm of his hand.

  “I want you to keep this safe while I am gone. It is an instrument of great power.”

  Gwen marveled at the box before opening it. The real leather, very rare, used only for special objects, was smooth and almost red. The use of an animal’s skin meant that the object had great value, and was made to honor the animal who died, most likely of old age. The box had been lovingly embossed with the emblem of a boy and a fox—the Twins of legend. She opened the box, her hands shaking slightly. But almost immediately, she felt disappointed. Inside was nothing more than a rusty old harmonica.

  “I … I don’t know how to play,” Gwen said, trying to conceal her confusion.

  “That doesn’t matter,” said the Elder. “It’s a relic of the last True King. The leather is pigskin, made as a gift to the king in honor of his daughter’s eighth birthday, when she Awakened to her Animas, the pig, like her mother. But the instrument—that is much older. Melore believed that its music could strengthen the Animas bond.”

  “How can that be?” Gwen asked, baffled.

  The Elder lowered his voice. “Melore was a good king,” he whispered, “and very intelligent. He believed that the Animas bond did not only exist here”—the Elder pointed to his head—“but all around us. He believed it was a frequency, a vibration. It was everywhere.”

  Gwen looked up at the owls clustered on top of the high bookshelves. One among them was a dark brown barn owl named Grimsen, with whom the Elder had bonded for life. Once life-bonded with a member of their kin, a human could see through their eyes, like looking at a photograph, almost at will. Life-bonded humans and their kin were like two halves of the same soul, and one’s well-being was intimately tied with the other’s. Gwen had not experienced this with one particular animal, an owl like Grimsen that she could consider part of her own self. She looked at the small instrument in her hands. How wonderful it would be if just learning to play a few notes—the right notes—would strengthen her Animas connection, making her strong enough to bond with one particular owl, to see clearly what it saw. Maybe then she could be of more use to the Elder.

  “Keep it safe,” the Elder said, and his voice turned stern. “You never know when a tune might come in handy.”

  Gwen forced a smile.

  Above them, Grimsen screeched, and a large brown feather fell to the floor. The Elder closed his eyes as though listening. And he was listening, Gwen knew. He was listening and seeing as the owls saw.

  “Stirrings,” the Elder said, after a minute. He opened his eyes again. “An old presence in the Dark Woods has emerged anew … ” The Elder turned to Gwen and smiled, with a hint of mischief flashing in his eyes. “Dangerous times ahead. Oh, yes. Dangerous and exciting times.”

  Three

  AFTER THREE MINOR DERAILINGS, a variety of prepackaged sandwiches from the dining area, and another restless night listening to Roger’s snoring, Bailey was so glad to hear the loudspeaker’s tinny “FairMOUNT” call that he cheered. He wasn’t alone—Hal and his brother, Taylor, and Taylor’s gang of rowdy friends all sent up a celebratory whoop, and Roger audibly thanked Nature they had arrived.

  The rigimotive turned a corner around the base of a steep mountainside, and the boys could see the towering cliff on top of which the academy was perched, overlooking the wide Fluvian river. At the base of the cliff was a giant wooden waterwheel that created electro-current for the whole school. Here, where the river grew narrower, the w
ater was forced through the wheel, which churned and sputtered and sent sprays of mist up the side of the cliff.

  “How do we get up there?” Hal asked his uncle.

  Roger groaned. “You can see the tracks, can’t you?”

  Bailey squinted. The late afternoon sun glared off the wet cliff face, but Bailey could see a thin set of tracks snaking their way straight up the side of the cliff—directly to the Fairmount buildings.

  “Whoa” was all he could muster.

  “Seat belts on. Secure packages please,” came the voice from the loudspeaker.

  “Here we go,” said Roger with the enthusiasm of a slug about to encounter a trail of salt. Dillweed burrowed under the seat once more, bracing himself against Roger’s legs. “No matter how many times I make this trip, it never gets any easier .… ”

  As the rigimotive passed the waterwheel, a spray of river water splattered the windows. Then, a resounding creak, a screech of the wheels, a whoosh of the dirigible above, and suddenly the rigimotive and all its passengers were jolted back into their seats as the car came to a halt just inches in front of the face of the cliff.

  “What’s happening?” Bailey asked Roger, who looked a little ill.

  “They’re harnessing the front wheels to the tracks,” he said matter-of-factly. “And they’d better do it right, by Nature … ”

  Bailey and Hal exchanged a worried look. Clanks and thuds echoed through the windows from the rock wall in front of them. The yells of the conductors were muffled, but soon Bailey heard what sounded like an order to go. With a jolt, the rigimotive car was shaken—not forward, but up. Bailey jumped in his seat. Roger held his handkerchief in front of his face and closed his eyes.

  The rigimotive clanked its way straight up the side of the cliff. Every two or three jolts, the second car—where Bailey, Hal, and Roger were sitting—would seem to lean back, as if the weight were too much, and Bailey’s heart would pound until the dirigible’s steady ascent pulled the car right. Bailey could see at once why Roger was so nervous—and many of the other passengers too. Everyone on two legs in the rigimotive car had their hands clenched around their seat bottoms, and the family of raccoons that had spent a sleepless two nights in the aisle were skittering up and down between the seats anxiously. Someone’s hawk was flying wildly, attacking the windows as if it could get out.

  Roger had turned from ghostly pale to a sort of yellowish-green. Thankfully, after only a few minutes, the rigimotive made another grand creaking sound and righted itself, sliding back onto horizontal tracks at the top of the cliff.

  They had made it.

  Bailey’s stomach made another leap, this time into his throat. Fairmount Academy’s gleaming ivy-covered marble buildings were pink and orange in the early evening sun, and already a small crowd of students and teachers were gathered near the rigimotive platform to meet them. Bailey had never seen so many different kinds of animals in his life. Most of his schoolmates in the Lowlands were kin to farm or house animals. But here, the platform was packed with lizards and monkeys and large birds as well as sheep and guinea pigs. A pelican perched on the roof of the station, looking protectively at a man with a long nose standing below on the platform, checking off a list as trunks were unloaded onto the platform. Some men hoisted the larger luggage and suitcases from the first floor of the rigimotive onto a cart, where a pair of donkeys waited patiently to take them to the dorms.

  Bailey and Hal hurried down the stairs with Roger trailing behind them. Once outside, they followed the crowd of arriving students off of the platform and through the small station, where bags were being organized and returning students were shouting, hugging, and exchanging high fives. Rabbits, deer, and even one or two bears circled the station yard and scampered up the path to the main campus. The path itself was lined with impressive hedges trimmed to look like a menagerie of forest creatures.

  “Looks like everything’s well in hand, boys, so if you don’t mind, I have a parcel to drop off before the rigi moves on without me!” said Roger, clapping them both on the back. From the looks of the chaos in the station, Bailey wasn’t sure anything was in hand at all.

  “Ah, to be young,” Roger bellowed, mopping his face with his ever-present handkerchief. “Don’t get yourselves into too much trouble, boys. If I hear of any misbehavior”—he pointed a meaty finger at Hal, who, wide-eyed, looked like the last boy in the kingdom who’d ever dream of breaking a rule—“I’ll send you home to your mother in the blink of a badger’s eye.” With that, Roger ruffled Hal’s hair and was off, back into the crowd. Hal waved halfheartedly, then turned to Bailey.

  “He says it all the time,” he said, smiling, “but I don’t think he means it.”

  “What did he mean, a parcel?” asked Bailey.

  Hal shrugged. “He’s always got orders coming in for his herbs and plants and things. Probably an order from a Botany professor.”

  Outside the station, the crowd was even thicker and the chaos even less contained. Several sheepdogs ran circles around groups of confused students as the teachers tried unsuccessfully to corral students and their animal counterparts into lines according to year.

  “Year Ones over here!” Bailey heard someone shout, but he couldn’t see where the shout had come from, since as soon as he turned, a deer ran through the crowd, and a group of older girls went chasing after it, oohing and ahhing.

  Bailey turned and saw Taylor approaching with his friends from the rigimotive and some other tall, broad-shouldered boys. They were followed by their kin, a mixed group of cats, dogs, and even a long-eared jackrabbit that made Bailey suddenly a little homesick.

  “Hey, little brother!” Taylor said, too loudly, as he clapped Hal—too hard—on the shoulder. Hal stumbled forward, nearly losing his glasses. “We were just talking about you.”

  “I bet,” mumbled Hal.

  “I was trying to tell my friends about Bailey’s adventure on the way here, but I just can’t get the details right.” Taylor grinned at Bailey. “Please tell the story for us, Bailey.”

  Bailey remembered the reaction from those around him on the rigimotive: the laughter, the whispers.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. He tried to push through the group, but Taylor held out a hand to stop him.

  “Come on,” said Taylor, his voice changing into something almost resembling sincerity. “It’s such a great story. Just tell us what it was like out there, on the platform. That was pretty crazy of you, little man.”

  Bailey shrugged. “I was curious.”

  “You weren’t scared?” asked Taylor. Bailey looked around the assembled group of students. They were all watching him carefully.

  “Not really,” he said, and he realized it was true. He really hadn’t been scared. He’d felt excited.

  The other boys began to whisper.

  “Not even when you saw the ghost?” asked Taylor loudly. There was a snort from the crowd, then several bursts of laughter.

  Bailey frowned.

  “I didn’t say it was a ghost.”

  “You said it was white and it glowed—what else, Walker? Did it float and say Boo?”

  “You don’t know what I saw,” Bailey said. “You weren’t there.”

  “What did I tell you?” Taylor began to laugh too, and he and one of his friends slapped hands.

  “I’m guessing you’re Animas Weasel,” said a broad-shouldered boy with a flat, wide forehead, as though he’d fallen on his face once too many times running in Scavage matches. “You can always tell a liar by the smell of Weasel!”

  “Who knows what your Animas is, though?” Taylor added. “I don’t see any of your kin around. Not on the rigi, not here. I guess not even your own kin want to be around you … ”

  Bailey felt his face heat up.

  “Leave him alone, Taylor,” said Hal.

  “Leave him alone!” Taylor mimicked Hal’s voice. “I’ll protect you, Bailey!”

  “Bark off, I mean it!” said Hal.

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nbsp; Taylor was still smiling, but there was a flash of anger in his eyes when he looked at Bailey. “You’re just lucky we came along to pull you in from the platform, or who knows? The bats might have nibbled on your fingers. And you know what they say about bats—they carry all kinds of diseases.”

  Hal lunged for his brother, but Taylor sent him tumbling backward onto the lawn with a single push.

  “Hal!” Bailey went to help Hal to his feet.

  Suddenly, there was the loud clinking of machinery. A puff of foul-smelling smoke split the group apart, and a rickety motorbuggy came to a crashing halt in front of Taylor and his friends.

  The contraption looked as if a stiff wind could blow it apart. Gears and bolts and other mismatched pieces were hammered against one another as the motorbuggy’s steam engine kept puffing away. The man inside—at least, Bailey thought it was a man—reached up with his ridiculously oversized gloves and removed a pair of bug-eyed driving goggles.

  His face, except for the part where the goggles had been, was coated with coal dust. Even his thin black mustache was dusty. He had a young face, but Bailey saw tired lines under the man’s eyes. A red fox sat perched next to him on the seat of a sidecar, wearing a homemade pair of miniature goggles of her own, her red fur tinged in places with grease and black coal. The clutch and steering wheel were ornate and shiny—as if they were polished often. Whoever this man was, he truly loved his sputtering, handwrought motorbuggy.

  “Taylor Quindley!” the coal-dusted person barked. “What are you and your teammates doing here, harassing young persons?”

  Instantly, Taylor’s attitude shifted. He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered an apology, and the group quickly dispersed.

  Bailey pulled Hal to his feet. The person in the motorbuggy was wrestling with a set of assorted knobs, trying to get the unsteady thing started again.

  “I, um … you … thanks,” Hal managed to say. Bailey noticed the top of a metal flask sticking out of the man’s vest pocket.

  “Don’t thank me,” the man said, without looking up. “I have three pastimes in life: machines, music, and making people squirm. You might be next.”