The greatest kingdom, p.23
The Greatest Kingdom, page 23
A muscle in Miro’s shoulder twitched, and he knew he had to get to the ground. His body was a few heartbeats away from rearranging itself.
There are so many connections between us, said Miro’s inner voice.
That did it. A clump of his feathers fell out, shedding easily in the wind.
All the times that Miro had been set apart from other people – been told he was superior, or that he wasn’t enough – it was nonsense. He could see that now.
The dividers between things were, at best, flexible; at worst they were an illusion made by people with something to gain. People like Bohoosh and Patoleezal, like his uncle and King Ctibor.
Miro flew like a meteor, feathers trailing in his wake. He could feel his bones and muscles releasing, reaching and binding anew.
He didn’t want to crash into the palaces. He searched, desperate, for a safe place to land. The birch trees were whizzing closer and Miro wanted to scream with the pain, but he couldn’t; he was still mostly falcon.
There are so many connections …
He fought to keep hold of that image – of the marshes, of the mingling of life.
Meanwhile, Miro’s dive was becoming a crash landing. He turned into the descent, hoping his tail would stabilise him, trying to extend his wings.
But there was more finger than feather, more arm than wing. Uh-oh, he was changing too fast.
Stars smudged.
Branches reached.
Human faces looked up,
small but getting bigger,
pointing and fleeing,
as a falcon-rocket hurtled their way.
Miro was on the edge of consciousness. The pain of the transformation made lights explode behind his eyes – ping, ping – off they went.
He was soluble,
he was fluid,
he was falling.
Branches buffeted his shoulders – sides – feet.
Miro landed on the earth with a thump that knocked the air from his lungs. He was still shifting, part-boy, part-feathered-thing. Blinking, he found that his vision was blurry – no, not blurry, just human.
Miro gasped and his chest heaved. Crawling, his knees scuffed grass. He was stiff and battered, as if he’d fallen from the stars.
There were people standing nearby. ‘It’s a child,’ said one of them.
‘It was a bird a second ago!’
Miro looked down and saw hands, human hands. His feathers had burst from him and were scattered on the ground. And his skin – his real skin – had returned.
‘It’s a slipskin!’ cried another voice.
Miro had landed at the edge of the common, near the palaces. His transformation was complete … and it had been witnessed by half of the city. Even better, he wasn’t wearing any clothes.
How humiliating, thought the boy part of his brain.
Who cares, thought the falcon. Soar, fly, hunt, kill –
Miro looked up at the curious faces. They were all dressed as animals, wearing feathers and fur, but it was clear that they were human underneath. Costumes. It was still the festival.
‘Has anyone got a spare cloak?’ asked Miro. ‘There’s someone that I need to find.’
Imogen saw a star fall from the sky – no, not a star, a large bird – no, not a bird, but a child in bird’s clothing who was shedding his feathers as he fell.
People were screaming in that corner of the park and running, to avoid being crushed. Musicians stopped playing their instruments. Many faces turned up.
The falling child twisted and turned in mid-air, arms flailing as if trying to flap wings. It was hard to see by the light of the lanterns, but Imogen caught sight of his face and her insides seemed to go liquid. ‘Is that Miro?’ she gasped.
‘It is!’ cried Marie, who was at Imogen’s side.
‘He’s going to die!’ Konya yelled.
But the falling boy was slowed by tree branches and Imogen prayed it was enough. She started running towards him as he hit the ground.
Marie and Mum-the-hare ran too. Konya-the-woman followed, carrying Kazimira-the-frog in one hand.
Mum was the fastest, springing out of Marie’s hood. She nipped between people’s ankles like an Olympic skier whizzing between flags.
A crowd had formed around the spot where Miro had landed and Imogen had some difficulty squeezing through. She ducked between the furry chests and feathered elbows.
‘Excuse me – can I just – can I …’ She squidged her way past a woman dressed as an elephant, batting her fabric trunk aside.
And there was Miro. He was panting, on all fours. Someone had thrown a cloak on his back. Mum-the-hare was circling him, not quite sure what to make of it all.
‘Miro!’ cried Imogen. ‘Are you okay?’ She scrambled to his side. People were keeping their distance, as if they thought he might be dangerous.
Miro didn’t reply and Imogen was afraid that he was seriously hurt. Perhaps he’d broken some bones. He crouched under the cloak, breathing hard.
Miro turned his face slowly. ‘Imogen?’
It was Miro, that much was clear. But he looked different – thinner and older – more like Miro’s older brother than the boy that Imogen knew.
‘W-w-what are you doing here?’ he mumbled. ‘Didn’t you – I thought you’d gone home?’
‘Miro!’ squeaked Marie as she burst out of the crowd. ‘We went home and then we had to come back.’
A smile snuck across Miro’s face. He looked weary and there were scratches on his cheeks, probably from the trees that had broken his fall. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘But I’m glad. I’m glad to see you.’
You might not say that if you knew why we were here, Imogen thought.
‘We’re happy to see you too,’ said Marie.
‘We heard about the duel with Surovetz,’ added Imogen. ‘It sounds like you were very brave. And you helped distract the krootymoosh – it gave us time to get out of the mines. We didn’t even get the chance to say thank you!’
Imogen half expected Miro to puff himself up and say, Yes, I was rather brave. But Miro looked at her with a faraway expression, as if he hadn’t even heard what she said.
‘The duel?’ he whispered. ‘That was a long time ago.’
Imogen wondered what he meant. It had been about half a year. It wasn’t that long … not really. She hadn’t even started Year Eight.
Miro wrapped his cloak tighter round his shoulders before getting to his feet. He groaned as his back straightened and, when he was upright, he wobbled. The girls grabbed his arms to steady him.
‘Thanks,’ said Miro, ‘I just need a moment.’
‘He’s a slipskin!’ cried one of the onlookers.
Miro’s eyes flicked in their direction, but he didn’t respond.
‘Were you … a bird?’ asked Imogen.
Miro looked at her with his far-apart eyes. ‘A mountain falcon, since you ask.’
‘Wow,’ said Marie. ‘How did you change? You don’t even have the slipskin book!’
Miro shivered in the cloak. ‘I don’t know. It all happened so quickly …’
The golden hare was hopping near the children, scrabbling at Miro’s feet. Marie picked her up under her front paws, so her long back legs dangled down. ‘This is our mum,’ said Marie. ‘She’s pleased to meet you.’
The hare stared at Miro with her protruding eyes. Then she scrabbled in Marie’s grip until one paw was extended towards the boy.
Miro took the paw and kissed it. Imogen suppressed a laugh. She was pretty sure Mum had intended for Miro to shake her paw, but there you go. Things were different in this world.
‘It’s an honour to meet you,’ said Miro. He glanced at Imogen and Marie. ‘You didn’t tell me your mother was a hare?’
‘She isn’t normally,’ said Imogen.
‘Did she get tricked by Mage Bohoosh too?’
‘No,’ muttered Imogen. ‘Although he is the reason we’re here. He said he was planning to make you disappear. We came to warn you, but it looks like we were too late … Bohoosh must have thought you’d be stuck as a bird.’
Konya-the-woman stepped forwards. ‘Miaow-roslav,’ she said. ‘It is I.’
Miro blanched. ‘Konya? How did you escape Bohoosh?’
Konya gave a luxurious shrug. ‘I ran. Brought this little purr-incess with me.’ She held out a long-nailed hand, with the toxic green frog in the centre.
Kazimira croaked and, for a moment, Imogen was afraid that Konya would eat the frog. But Konya pushed her hair back, allowing Kazimira to hop on to her shoulder. ‘Good froggy,’ purred Konya.
‘Bohoosh is going to pay for this,’ spat Miro.
He started limping towards a glass-topped building that bordered this corner of the park. The crowd parted to let him through.
‘I must speak with Mage Bohoosh, in the Guest Palace,’ Miro called over his shoulder. ‘I think he’s turned people into animals before. I think that’s what he did to my family.’
Miro strode towards the Guest Palace, with Imogen and Marie in tow. Mum bounded beside them. Konya brought up the rear, with Kazimira-the-frog balanced on her shoulder.
Imogen thought they’d be told to wait outside, but the guards clearly recognised Miro. ‘They’re with me,’ he said and the guards stood aside.
The ragtag band of children and animals set off down an arched corridor. At the end of the passage, Miro opened the door into a circular room. It reminded Imogen of a massive conservatory: warm and full of thick-leaved plants.
There seemed to be a party going on. The guests were dressed as animals, just like the festivalgoers outside. But they’d taken off most of their costumes – uncomfortable clawed feet and itchy furred cloaks. They were almost human once more.
Only one person wore no fancy dress. Imogen recognised his long curly shoes. It was the man who’d come to the library – Mage Bohoosh.
He lounged on a bench, at the centre of the room, with a great many pillows about him. People were crowded close, passing cheese and pouring wine.
‘And I said,’ cried Bohoosh, ‘it looks like a llama to me!’
Everyone around him laughed.
‘Bohoosh,’ shouted Miro and the room fell quiet.
The Grand Mage lifted his head. His mouth opened … and closed.
Someone slurped wine in the silence that followed. Then a woman, dressed as a sheep, broke the hush. ‘Miroslav!’ she cried. ‘You’re … you!’
Miro advanced on the mage. ‘What have you done to my family?’ he demanded.
Bohoosh shrank into the bench, as if hoping the cushions would consume him. ‘I am but a servant of the crown.’
The woman in sheep’s clothing pointed at Mum. ‘No hares are allowed in the palace!’
But Miro would not be put off. ‘You turned my grandmothers into animals, didn’t you?’
‘What piffle,’ said Bohoosh. ‘What absolute tosh! You know I’m not much of a mage.’
‘Lies,’ snarled Miro. ‘You’re a good mage when it suits you.’
Konya-the-woman paced behind Miro. If she’d still got a tail, it would have been flicking.
Marie scooped up Mum and held her out with both hands. ‘This is our mother,’ she said to Mage Bohoosh. ‘Do you know the spell to make her human again?’
‘Those things carry disease,’ cried a partygoer with a mouth full of Stilton.
‘And this froggy,’ said Konya, pointing at the green creature that clung to her neck. ‘Turn her back into a princess.’
‘Can you do it?’ said Imogen, eyes fixed on Bohoosh.
‘Of course not!’ he snapped. ‘I’m no slipskin. I am just a humble mage, doing my best to keep this kingdom running. Isn’t that right, Steward Lída?’
The sheep-woman gave a prim nod.
Imogen scowled at them both. She knew that wasn’t true. Bohoosh had turned Miro into a falcon. He wanted the slipskin book destroyed. There was nothing humble about him.
Marie placed her mother on the ground and the hare scratched her ear with her back paw.
‘It’s Miroslav you should be asking,’ said Bohoosh. ‘How he transformed into a boy is beyond me.’ Then he gestured at Konya. ‘Besides, I don’t see any problem. Your sněehoolark is less dangerous like that.’
Konya lunged at the mage.
Bohoosh scrambled to his feet, keeping the bench between him and the furious woman.
‘Dangerous?’ screamed Konya. ‘I’ll show him dangerous. I’ll claw him to death! I’ll eat his face!’
Imogen rushed to pick up Kazimira, who had fallen from Konya’s neck. There were a lot of big feet on that floor. And if there’s one thing worse than being a frog, it’s being a flat frog.
‘I’ll make him into pâté!’ shouted Konya. ‘Come on, old man, don’t you want to play?’ It took several people to restrain her.
‘Once an animal, always an animal,’ said Lída.
‘Always an animal?’ said Miro. ‘Is that what you hoped would happen to me – that I’d be trapped as a falcon, unable to turn back?’
Mage Bohoosh took a big glug of wine, not even bothering to respond.
‘Fetch the guards,’ cried Lída. ‘Miroslav and his friends are no longer welcome. It’s time for you children to leave.’
But any attempt to call the guards was drowned out by a loud trumpeting. It seemed to be coming from the corridor leading to the big plant-filled room.
The partygoers were ruffled, not sure if they should be afraid. Bohoosh stayed behind his bench.
Imogen placed Kazimira on her shoulder. Mum stayed close to Marie. Whatever was coming, it was making a lot of noise.
Finally, the door flung open and a skret stood on the other side. The fanfare blasted behind him, and it was all that Imogen could hear. The sound seemed to reverberate about the room, circling round and round. Mum clamped her paws over her ears.
The skret was dressed in human clothing. The ends of his shoes had been sawn off to make way for his claws. A feathered cap was set on his bald head.
He was, Imogen realised, in fancy dress as a human. And, as the skret stepped into the lamplight, Imogen felt a surge of recognition.
She recognised the skret’s yellow eyes.
She recognised the way that he stood.
Above all, she recognised his teeth.
Unlike the other skret, who had small triangular gnashers, this one had long bottom teeth that stuck out from his mouth like tusks.
‘Zuby?’ asked Imogen. But the trumpeting was too loud.
More skret entered the room. They were also wearing human costumes and blowing into shiny brass instruments, like trumpets with extra pipes. They kept making their bright brash sound, until Zuby raised his hand.
‘I present, the Královna’s Chief Moth Keeper,’ called one of the musicians, gesturing at Zuby. Imogen had met the Král of Klenot Mountain. He was the king of that place. She guessed that Královna was something similar; perhaps a queen of the local skret.
Imogen still remembered Zuby’s parting words from the last time they’d met. I have a little quest of my own … Was this the quest he’d been planning? Joining the skret of the Nameless Mountains?
If so, it must have gone well for him to be in charge of the moths. Imogen knew it was an important job – one of the most trusted positions among skret.
Zuby bowed to Mage Bohoosh. ‘My Lord,’ he said in his crackle-hiss voice. ‘I come bearing ill news.’
Bohoosh did not bow back. ‘Ill news? I’m not sure I want to receive it.’ The partygoers murmured their agreement.
Imogen and Marie, Miro and Konya, all stood very still.
‘I received a moth a few hours ago,’ said Zuby. ‘It had travelled a very long way, carrying an important message for the Královna of the Nameless Mountains.’
There was stirring among the partygoers. Bohoosh looked nervous too.
‘The moth was sent by the Maudree Král, who rules a realm near Yaroslav. He wanted to warn the Královna of a great danger heading her way.’
‘What danger?’ cried Lída, removing her sheepy bonnet.
‘A great swarm of humans is marching towards us – a terrible army.’
Bohoosh’s wine-stained lips quivered. ‘Who are they?’ he asked. ‘What do they want?’
‘I sent moths to investigate,’ said Zuby. ‘They say the army is on the Long Road, and they’re carrying mixed banners … but the ones out in front show a green crown.’
Imogen had seen that mark before. ‘Anneshka!’ she cried. ‘That’s her logo!’
Now Zuby looked her way. His round eyes seemed to grow even rounder. They flicked between Imogen, Miro and Marie. ‘Little humans?’ he gasped. ‘You are here?’
‘Why would anyone march on Nedobyt?’ cried one of the party guests. ‘We are not at war!’
Zuby shrugged his shoulders. ‘Do humans ever need a reason to attack?’
Imogen glanced at her sister, who had gone very pale. Surely, thought Imogen, Anneshka hadn’t come all this way – hundreds of miles, assembling an army – just to find Marie?
‘We estimate that there are ten thousand soldiers,’ said Zuby. ‘At this rate, they’ll reach the ravine before dawn.’
‘That is not good,’ whispered Konya.
‘We are doomed,’ cried Mage Bohoosh. ‘We’ll never stand against such numbers. There are too many, too many by far!’
Imogen felt fear stir in her stomach, like a small animal waking up. She’d never seen an army, never been in a battle, and she didn’t want to do either.
‘The Královna has left the festival,’ said Zuby. ‘She’s retreating to her mountain-top cave. But she asked me to share this message, and to make a suggestion to you, Grand Mage. Now might be a good time to close the ravine.’
A deathly hush fell on the room.
‘Yes,’ cried Imogen, breaking the silence, ‘that’s a good idea! Is that how Nedobyt defeated Radko the Conqueror? Did they shut the ravine?’
Bohoosh gave a smile that wasn’t a smile, but more of a grimace. ‘Miroslav’s grandmothers were the last ones who knew how to do it. When they vanished, the secret vanished too. I tried to get them to tell me before they … disappeared. But they were stubborn old biddies. Never knew what was best.’
