Mines of the Minotaur

  “Shh!” hissed Connie, shoving the letter back under her desk.

  “Are you three intending to do any work today?” Mrs. Stephens was standing at Rat’s shoulder. “Or are you going to carry on discussing your weekend plans about—what was it? A frost wolf? I assume that isn’t a mathematical term?”

  Some girls in the front row sniggered at the teacher’s sarcasm.

  “No—it’s just a brand of snowboard,” Col invented quickly.

  “Well, Col, if it hasn’t escaped your notice, we’re in an algebra lesson, not on the ski slopes. Page forty-four—and work silently.”

  Mrs. Stephens turned away.

  “See, I told you,” said Rat, doodling a wolf in the margin of his textbook. “She wasn’t interested.”

  The following Saturday, Shaker Row was humming with activity as the wedding preparations entered their final week. Connie felt useless and decided to take refuge outside, leaving Evelyn and Mack arguing over the guest list for the reception. She followed the track from the beach up onto the cliffs. A fresh breeze stirred her hair; the sea was broken into white wave crests, sunlight sparkling off its ever-moving surface; the grass rippled at her feet. Connie felt her spirits lift. It was impossible to be gloomy on such a sunny day as this, an unexpected bonus before winter took hold. The air smelled newly washed, sharp with salt and seaweed.

  Striding up onto the headland, she stood looking out across the ocean. On the horizon, a tanker churned its way to the oil refinery at Chartmouth. To her left, Connie could make out the harbor and roofs of Hescombe; to her right, the moors began. A line of dark trees marked the margin of the pine plantation. She had a good view of the field in front: that was where the wind farm would be, if Mr. Masterson got his way. She would see the turbines twirling restlessly on the horizon every time she walked in this direction—man’s technology planted in a place that until now had felt peaceful and untamed. Was it right to impose this on the countryside to satisfy humankind’s appetite for energy? Connie remembered Evelyn’s words about everything coming at a price. There seemed no easy answer. As if to remind her of their rival claim to the air, seabirds called overhead, displaying their flying skills to the universal as they swept in and out of one another’s path in interlocking figure eights.

  Connie sat down in the shelter of a thick mat of brambles that spilled over the bank. Dried blackberries still clung to some of the tendrils. Mottled, blackened leaves rattled in the breeze. The year was getting old, ready to settle down into its winter sleep.

  Universal, he is dead.

  Jolted from her thoughts, which were flying up among the birds, Connie looked behind her to see who had spoken. She then realized that the voice had been in her head: it was Gard, the rock dwarf, who could locate her anywhere in the world as long as her feet were in contact with the ground. Burrowing into the earth through their bond, Connie sought him out.

  Who is dead, Gard? she asked.

  My companion. Frederick died this morning as the sun rose. He went peacefully in his sleep.

  Connie sensed the rock dwarf’s deep pain. Though he had seen many companions come and go, he never found the parting from them any easier.

  I’m so sorry, Connie whispered. I don’t know what to say.

  The earth seemed to sigh and groan under her, oppressed by this new burden of grief.

  All that he was will remain as part of me, a treasured layer of memory, but already there is no trace of his living presence on the earth. The ground misses his footprint.

  Connie found she was crying for Gard. Oh, Gard, what can I do for you?

  Nothing, Universal. It is enough that you are with me.

  They sat together, linked by the earth that sustained them both, though many miles apart. Connie knew that Gard had the strength of the earth to draw on; his sorrow would chisel new depths in his being, like a sculptor revealing the beauty of the hidden shape within the rock. But the painful process had only just begun. For now they both needed the comfort of each other.

  You mortals are strange creatures, Gard said at length. My destiny lies here, but when your body dies, it seems that your spirit goes elsewhere, beyond my knowledge. I can never follow my companions there.

  The thought of that eternal parting was almost too painful for Connie to contemplate—she would hate to be separated from Argand even for a few days. And what will you do now that your companion is gone? she asked gently.

  Resign as a Trustee. Wait for the birth of a new companion. Bide my time.

  Do you have to resign?

  Of course—a Trustee cannot hold his position without his companion. It has always been so.

  You’ll not disappear completely, will you, Gard? Connie asked anxiously.

  Of course not. We can keep in touch—by touch.

  Connie laughed sadly. It was a comfort to know that she was never truly separated from her friend. I’ll hold you to that.

  Good-bye, Universal.

  Good-bye for now, Gard.

  Returning from the deep places of the earth to the bright light of its surface, Connie saw that the sparkling day had clouded over and felt a chill wind blowing. Shivering, she got to her feet and headed back to Shaker Row.

  Up at the Mastersons’ farm, Col and Rat were waiting in the yard for Rat’s mentor to arrive. Erik Ulvsen was a distant cousin of Mr. Masterson; so the farmer had gone to fetch him from the airport for what was expected to be a prolonged Christmas visit while Erik trained Rat in the basics of frost wolf companionship.

  “What’d you think he’s going to be like?” Rat asked, kicking the muddy tires of a tractor parked by the barn.

  “I dunno,” replied Col, wishing he could be more helpful. He remembered only too clearly his own wait for his first encounter. He was hoping that Erik would not be too much like his cousin, as Col found Mr. Masterson a bit of a bore—or should that be boar? “Captain Graves, my mentor, seemed a bit strange to begin with—but he knows his stuff and we get along okay. I was more worried about Skylark rejecting me. Aren’t you a bit anxious about your wolf?”

  Rat shook his head. “No—I get along fine with animals. It’s people that I have a problem with.”

  Mr. Masterson’s Land Rover bumped into the yard, with two men in the front. Col glanced over at Rat—he had gone still, like an animal at bay.

  The passenger door opened, and Erik Ulvsen got out. Col’s first impression was that the mentor was very tall—his height accentuated by a long gray coat that skimmed his heels. He had a short crop of spiky blond hair and a silver earring in one ear. Col guessed that he was no older than thirty, but it was hard to tell—the mentor’s face was weathered into fine lines around the eyes and mouth, the result of spending so much time outside in the snow and the sun’s glare. When Erik Ulvsen turned to the boys, Col caught a glimpse of keen blue eyes. Erik strode toward them, his coat flapping open, revealing a blood-red lining.

  “So which is the boy, then?” The mentor’s voice was surprisingly soft for such a big man, with only the hint of a Scandinavian accent—making you listen all the harder, as if everything he had to say was of value. He looked expectantly between Col and Rat. “Let me guess. It is you—am I right?” He pointed at Rat, who nodded as if mesmerized.

  Col nudged Rat forward. He had warned Rat to expect a pep talk from his mentor as Captain Graves had given him the first time—some sober words about the importance of his new responsibilities.

  “Hello, I am Erik. What’s your name?” The Norwegian held out his hand.

  “Sean Ratcliff.” Rat shook hands.

  Erik held the grip for a moment longer. “Really—is that what you like to be called?”

  “No, I’m Rat.”

  “So, are you ready, Rat?”

  Rat nodded cautiously.

  Erik smiled, his eyes wrinkling at the corner into deep lines. “I am about to introduce you to the most amazing creature you will ever meet—no one can be ready for that.”

  Mr. Masterson arrived at his cousin’
s elbow. “Don’t you want to put your feet up after your journey, Erik?” he asked. “I’m sure Rat wouldn’t mind waiting till tomorrow.”

  Erik had not broken eye contact with Rat; they were communicating on a level other than words. “No, Clive, I think that Rat should not wait a moment longer. We may not have much time left with the frost wolves.”

  “But you’re…not in the farmyard, surely?” blustered Mr. Masterson. “I’ve got ewes in the back field, for heaven’s sake!”

  “They will not disturb us.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  Erik didn’t seem to be listening. He turned away from them all and looked around the yard. “Follow me,” he told Rat, leading the way to the north side of the barn. “The frost lingers longest in the shade—that is what he likes best.” He knelt and touched an icy patch of earth. “This will do. Now watch.”

  “You’ve got a frost wolf with you?” asked Rat in awe.

  “Certainly. One of the younger wolves from our pack volunteered for the adventure. He should have reached here by now.”

  “How did he travel?” asked Col.

  “By air, like me.” Erik gave an almost wolfish grin, teeth showing. “Well, perhaps not exactly like me. Watch now.”

  He bent over the patch of frost and touched it with a finger. Next he scraped a little onto his skin, lifted it to his lips, and licked. With the ice still melting on his tongue, he bent his head back and let out a howl. The call echoed from the surrounding hillsides until it sounded as if there were wolves all around them. He stopped—but the howling continued. A chill wind picked up, spinning wisps of straw across the ground. Mr. Masterson was shaking his head in despair as the sheep in the nearest fold scattered; but Rat was alert, his eyes fixed on something that Col could not yet see. Rat was gazing at a spot right in the center of the yard. A patch of swirling snow appeared from nowhere, twisting like a mini tornado. Col and Rat watched in amazement as a shape formed: first paws, then snout, shaking itself free of the wind. Finally, the creature bounded forward, sweeping the remaining snow up into a long feathery tail.

  A huge frost wolf, Skylark’s equal in size, now stood in the center of the farmyard—white coat glinting like the dazzle of sun on snow, jaws open in a pant, black-rimmed gums and pink tongue showing. Each step the beast took made the ground crackle as he left a trail of frost footmarks. Every breath produced a plume of freezing white vapor that coated all it touched with a dusting of rime. A pair of ice-blue eyes sparkled dangerously as they surveyed the fleeing sheep, then turned to the boys.

  Col took a step back, knowing better than to get in the way of a creature and its companion. Rat moved slowly forward, hand outstretched. He was making low growling sounds in his throat, following his instinct.

  Erik nodded. “That’s right, Rat. Let him smell you. If he likes your scent, then you will be accepted.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” muttered Mr. Masterson anxiously.

  Rat paused as the wolf loped forward. His hand looked like no more than a tiny nip for those massive jaws. The wolf lowered his snout, sniffed—then bounded forward, knocking Rat to the ground.

  “No!” shouted Col. It must have gone wrong—the beast was attacking his friend!

  He felt a hand grip the back of his jacket. “Wait!” said Erik, though he too seemed tense.

  The frost wolf had one paw on Rat’s chest and was staring into his face; Rat looked scared, but he met the gaze unflinchingly. There was a pause, and then the wolf decided the boy passed inspection: he began licking Rat’s face lavishly. He went down on his belly so that boy and wolf could roll over in a play fight. Col had to stop himself from intervening—Rat appeared so small between the giant creature’s paws, and some of the nips looked painful.

  “Forgive Icefen—he is still only a cub,” Erik said as he watched the two scuffle.

  “I’ve never seen a frost wolf before—he’s quite something,” Col murmured.

  “Yes, he is. Though Icefen is small for his age, of course. You should see the whole pack when it is gathered.”

  “And what are his powers—I mean, what can he do?”

  Erik pointed. “You see the frost breath?”

  Col nodded; the old tractor parked at the north end of the yard was white with it.

  “If a frost wolf breathes on you, you go cold. Two breaths, and you will fall asleep—like what happens to humans caught in the snow. Dangerous but effective for getting out of trouble.”

  “And a third breath?”

  “Frostbite sets in.”

  Col gulped, seeing his friend tumbling on the ground with the creature. “But Rat’ll be okay, won’t he?”

  “Yes, he has the companion’s immunity when he is bonded with Icefen. He has nothing to fear—in fact, I suspect he is having the time of his life. I sense already that he is an exceptionally strong companion.”

  “Yeah, Connie’s always said so.”

  “The universal? Now, there is someone I would like to meet. Icefen, too.”

  “I’m sure you will. She’s around this place somewhere. But she keeps away from first encounters so she won’t mess it up for the new members,” Col explained.

  “In that case, we look forward to seeing her later.” Erik gave a piercing whistle, and Icefen leapt from Rat. “Time for your ride, Rat. Climb on.”

  Needing no more encouragement, Rat scrambled onto Icefen, fists gripping the thick fur at the back of the wolf’s neck. Icefen gave an excited yip.

  “Off you go,” said Erik.

  With a whoop and a bark, Rat and Icefen bounded away up the hillside, sheep scattering before them like pins in a bowling alley.

  Mr. Masterson turned on his cousin. “Stop them! That creature will kill my sheep!”

  “Calm down, Clive!” Erik said, shading his eyes to follow his pupil’s progress. “Icefen ate two goats this morning before we left home. He won’t be hungry again today.”

  4

  Wedding

  Afew days later, Col was sluggishly eating his breakfast, reluctant to face another day at school. The night before, Evelyn had brought over the model of the wind farm for them to see; it sat on the table in front of him, looking just as bad as he had feared. The pegasi and the High Flyers were going to be horrified when they saw it at the next Society meeting—as even on this small scale it was clear that the huge turbines would make that bit of coast a no-fly zone. Rat and Erik Ulvsen were all for it: they acted as if wind power was all that stood between the frost wolves and extinction; Rat had been going on about it with Col for days now—another reason not to want to go to school.

  “Strange how you can’t get up during the week but have no problems on the weekend when Skylark’s waiting for you,” his grandmother observed acerbically as she buttered herself some toast. Col grinned at her.

  There was a scuffling at the front door and then a thump as the mail fell onto the mat in the hallway.

  “Get them for me, will you, dear,” Mrs. Clamworthy asked when her grandson showed no signs of moving.

  Col took a big mouthful of cereal and crunched it as he went to fetch the letters. Among the usual pile of junk mail lay a thick brown envelope with the initials SPMC stamped across the top.

  “There’s something for you from the Society,” he said as he dropped the mail onto her lap. Mrs. Clamworthy rifled through until she found the brown envelope and slit it open with her knife. Putting on her glasses, she read the contents carefully twice. Col returned to his breakfast and waited for her to say something.

  “So, what’s it about then?” he prompted, curious as to why the Society was writing to her and not to him.

  “The poor man’s not been dead a week and they’re already filling his shoes,” she said angrily, handing the letter to her grandson to read for himself.

  Col took the papers and looked them over. The first page announced the death of Frederick Cony, Trustee for the Elementals, and the subsequent retirement of his companion, Gard. The letter, which was
addressed to the Worldwide Membership of the Company of Creatures of the Four Elements, went on to announce the holding of elections to fill the vacant positions. A list of candidates followed with a separate sheet for each pair to set out their manifestos.

  “I see what you mean,” Col said as he leafed through the candidates’ details.

  “They say it’s because of the Far Eastern crisis,” Mrs. Clamworthy said, wrinkling her nose in disdain, “but I think it’s all that Coddrington’s doing. He’s been itching to stand for election ever since Frederick’s health began to fail.”

  Col looked back at the list of candidates. After Lee Chan and his companion, the rock dwarf Jade, were listed Ivor Coddrington and Hoo, the weather giant. He pulled out the pair’s manifesto and read it with growing disbelief:

  Ivor Coddrington has been a key member of the British section of the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures since 1976. He is one of only five companions to weather giants in the world, making his skills much sought after and particularly crucial at this time, when the Earth is under attack by some of these creatures. He was instrumental in the identification of the Society’s only universal companion and has remained closely involved with her training. In the last two years, he has also played a major role in protecting the universal from attacks by Kullervo.

  “I see he doesn’t mention that he turned Connie down at her assessment, does he?” Col said with a disgusted laugh. “‘Closely involved’—well, if that includes spying, I s’pose it’s true, though from what I’ve seen, no one’s been helping Connie with her training. And as for his ‘major role’ in saving her, I don’t remember seeing him on the cliff edge at Deadman’s Cove or up Merlin’s Oak.”

  “I know, dear. He’s quite a horrid little man.”

  “Your Company would be crazy to elect him.”

  “Exactly. But most of the people voting don’t know him.” She folded the letter up thoughtfully and tucked it inside her knitting bag.

  “So when is the election?”

  “Just before Christmas. We have two weeks to return our voting slips.”