“What are you up to, Cel?”
“Nothing,” she said primly. “Well, something. It’s a project for Bran,” she added, in a less convincing tone. “He wants to know about any connection between griffins and the Castle. Can we take these to him?”
“Sure,” Rolf said, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it will inspire the maids to bring me some less raggedy cushions.”
They gathered up the cushions and made their way to the Armor Gallery, where Bran and Pogue were normally to be found. But the door was locked, and no one came to answer when Rolf knocked. Celie put down her cushions and peered through the keyhole, but the room was dark.
“They’re not there,” she said in disappointment.
“Well, back to the old window seat, I suppose,” Rolf said cheerfully. “We’ll have Bran come look at them after dinner.”
But as they crossed the main hall, there was a commotion at the front doors. Looking around, Celie saw Bran and Pogue there, and beyond them a strange carriage coming to a halt in the courtyard.
“Who is that?” Celie asked Rolf.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
Rolf glanced around, then tossed his armload of cushions through the broad arch into the dimness of the holiday feasting hall. With a pang of guilt, Celie did the same, and then followed her brother to the open doors. They stopped on either side of Bran, who Celie saw was clenching his fists nervously in the sleeves of his robes.
“What is it?” Celie asked in a low voice.
Bran shushed her.
A very tall, gaunt man in rich velvet robes stepped out of the carriage. He looked around the courtyard, his face pinched. Then he mounted the steps, studying Bran, Rolf, and Celie all the while. His eyes flickered over Pogue and then past him, as though he didn’t exist.
“Good afternoon,” Bran said. “I had expected Wizard Levin … I’m afraid I cannot remember your name, my lord wizard.”
Celie didn’t know wizards called each other “my lord wizard.” And Bran was the Royal Wizard, besides! She didn’t like how nervous this strange wizard was making her oldest brother.
“I am Wizard Arkwright,” the gaunt man announced. “And I am here to help you fix this Castle.”
Chapter
12
Celie’s protestations that the Castle didn’t need fixing had nearly gotten her banished from dinner, so she held her tongue. There was just something she couldn’t like about the painfully thin, gray-haired wizard. He was watching them all with heavy-lidded eyes, as though measuring their worth—even the king’s. Bran had asked for another wizard, his teacher Wizard Levin, to help catalog the weapons in the Armor Gallery, but Arkwright had taken it upon himself to come instead and study the entire Castle, not just the gallery.
It seemed very high-handed of Arkwright, and Celie decided to listen to him as carefully as she could. At dinner it appeared that Rolf and Lilah seemed much of the same mind, though Lulath was overjoyed to find that the new wizard spoke fluent Grathian, and had lived there for some years.
Lulath’s dogs, on the other hand, clearly shared Celie’s concerns.
“JouJou! Niro! Kitsi! You must be the behaving dogs!” Lulath said rather desperately as three of his girls attempted to attack Wizard Arkwright during the soup course. The fourth, Bisi, sat in Lulath’s lap and growled across the table at the wizard, who ignored them all.
“Do you perhaps have a cat, Wizard Arkwright?” Queen Celina sounded on the verge of laughter.
“No,” the wizard said in a dry voice. “I find that animals hinder me in my travels.”
“Ah, most wise,” King Glower said loudly, to drown out the yapping.
“I am so the embarrassments,” Lulath said, his face crumpled with misery. “I have not the faintest why they must do so! They are the sweet little girls, always!”
“Animals don’t like me,” Arkwright said coolly. “I am not bothered by it.”
Celie felt her eyebrows crawling toward her hairline, and tried to keep her face smooth. Then she looked across the table and saw her sister’s stunned expression. They exchanged a look: What kind of person wasn’t bothered by something like that?
“As soon as dinner is over, Wizard Bran, I’d like to see the Armor Gallery and begin my work,” Wizard Arkwright went on.
Celie noticed that Wizard Arkwright was barely eating his dinner. He cut everything into small pieces and wiped his mouth thoroughly after each bite, which made it look like he was eating more than he was, but it didn’t fool Celie. She was an expert at making it look like she’d eaten things she didn’t like. Fish, for example.
Arkwright didn’t fool Queen Celina, either. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, and knew what mealtime deception looked like.
“Wizard Arkwright,” the queen said gently. “If the food is not to your liking, we could order something else from the kitchens for you. And please let Cook know if you have any special needs. We are so pleased that you have come, and we must do everything in our power to make you comfortable.”
Lulath, who had finally gotten his dogs calmed down, eagerly pointed out that he himself did not eat meat, and that Cook had become very adept at preparing wonderful meals for him in the Grathian manner. He offered his own plate to Arkwright, urging him to sample the delicately prepared mushrooms he had been served, but Arkwright refused.
“I do eat meat,” the older wizard said stiffly. “But I … have never had a large appetite … and as I get older I find it dwindles even further.”
“Well, if there’s anything you fancy, please let the kitchens know,” Queen Celina said. “They will be happy to accommodate you.”
“Thank you. Your Majesty is very kind,” Arkwright said.
He looked uncomfortable, Celie thought. And she had to grudgingly give him the benefit of the doubt. He was newly arrived in a strange place, and having everyone staring at him as he discussed his stomach must have been embarrassing. Celie let herself relax just a bit.
After dinner, she and Rolf went to the holiday feasting hall and arranged the tapestry cushions in order on the table. By silent agreement, they would not be taking them to Bran’s chambers or the Armor Gallery. Celie had seen Rolf’s face during dinner, and knew that he didn’t like the looks of the new wizard, either.
“We’ll just have to find a way to get Bran alone,” Rolf said. “Or maybe we should take these back to my room. Or even yours.”
“Not mine,” Celie blurted out. “I mean … they’re your cushions, you should keep using them until you get new ones anyway.” She had visions of the cushions being gutted by Rufus.
“Seems like a shame to hide them away again,” Rolf said. “Here they are easier to look at, and there’s loads of candles in that box over there. Do you think you could ask the Castle to put a door in, instead of that archway? Keep everything safe?”
“I could try,” Celie agreed.
Though the Castle hadn’t done anything since, she was still feeling very pleased with Rufus’s new tower playroom and the way the Castle had immediately responded to her pleas.
“It won’t work,” said a voice from the archway. “There has never been a door here.” Wizard Arkwright gestured to the threshold as he stepped past it into the room. “The Castle could make it, but it would only be temporary. What are you trying to hide in here?”
Celie felt herself go hot, then cold, then hot again. Rolf was frankly gaping at the wizard. What did he know about the Castle? And how?
“We’re not hiding anything,” Rolf said after a minute. “We’re just looking for a place to put these cushions where they won’t be disturbed.”
“They’re for a project with our tutor,” Celie added. She didn’t want Arkwright to know that they wanted to show them to Bran.
“Surely the crown prince is too old to still be under a tutor’s guidance?” Wizard Arkwright raised his eyebrows. Celie noticed, distracted, that his forehead was very high, and he could move his eyebrows a lot farther than anyone else she knew.
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“Well, I thought I’d do some extra studying,” Rolf said, making a flippant gesture. “I’m learning Grathian, a few things like that.”
“Embroidery?” Impossibly, Wizard Arkwright’s eyebrows went even higher. He looked down his long nose at the cushions.
“Epic poetry,” Celie said, thinking of the poem she’d transcribed a few weeks ago.
“I see,” Arkwright said. “Perhaps you should take these things to the schoolroom, then.” He looked around at the crates of decorations. “This room has other purposes.”
“How do you know we have a schoolroom? Or that this isn’t it?” Celie stuck her chin up, not caring if she sounded rude.
“I assumed that you didn’t sit on dusty crates to do your sums. Your Highness,” Wizard Arkwright said just as rudely.
“The schoolroom’s a bit crowded with some other things at present,” Rolf said, poking Celie in the back. “We’ll just leave them here for now and see what Master Humphries wants to do with them later.” He stopped poking and took Celie’s arm. “Come along, Cel, nearly time for bed.”
“May I take these cushions?” Arkwright asked. “I merely wish to look at them.” There was a sly tone in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Rolf said brightly, “but I’m sure Master Humphries will be along in minutes to see them. Good night!”
“Good night, Your Highnesses,” Wizard Arkwright said, bowing his head just a fraction of an inch.
“Good night,” Celie said from between gritted teeth.
“And if I may suggest, the poetry of Karksus is quite … evocative,” he said as they walked by.
“Good to know,” Rolf said, giving him a jaunty salute.
“I don’t like him,” Celie whispered as they walked across the main hall to her room.
“Nor do I,” Rolf said cheerfully. “But the way I see it, he can’t be worse than Khelsh and the old Emissary, and we got rid of them.”
“No,” Celie said. “Rufus and the Castle got rid of them.”
Rolf just shrugged. “We still have the Castle,” he pointed out. “And if we need to, I suppose you could summon a new Rufus!” He winked at her and said good night.
She went into her room, locking the door carefully behind her. Then she went up the wide spiral steps to Rufus’s new tower. He was savagely tearing apart one of his leather balls, but when he saw her he dropped it and came running. He looked like he’d grown during dinner, but he was still ungainly and nearly tore the hem of her gown in his exuberance.
“We already have a new Rufus,” she said aloud. “But I don’t know how much help he’ll be!”
Chapter
13
Celie could not stop thinking about what Wizard Arkwright had said about the holiday feasting hall. Of course it had other purposes; it had never occurred to her before, but now it seemed quite silly to think that there was an enormous room in the Castle that existed only for one week a year.
But it reminded her of what she and Rolf and Pogue had talked about when the hall first appeared, and what Bran had said at dinner that same night, about where the rooms of the Castle were before they were in Sleyne. Celie couldn’t shake the feeling that the rooms were not only somewhere else, but with someone else.
Who had put the decorations in the boxes? Who had provided the food at the winter holidays? She’d always thought of it as just being “the Castle,” but what did that mean? Somewhere, in a distant, exotic place, was there a kingdom where they had the other rooms of the Castle? Was there another throne room, another main hall … other towers … other kitchens?
She thought about the new kitchen, and the new stables. Had those other people used them until one day they were suddenly gone? Did they need the kitchen? The stables? Why had the Castle brought them to Sleyne, then?
Did these other people know about Sleyne?
She had been throwing a ball for Rufus up in his tower. She tossed it as hard as she could, so that it banged against the far wall, to give herself a moment to think. Was the Castle stealing from the other people for her family? Did it like them better, so it took away the others’ holiday feast every year? Took away their best rooms, their furnishings, their stockpiles of silk and velvet?
Why was it doing this?
Sensing that she was distracted, Rufus took his ball back across the tower and began tearing it apart. Celie finally roused herself and hurried over to him. He had his wings hunched up and was trying to hide beneath them. He’d ripped up two balls so far that week, and sometimes it took the Castle a couple of days to provide a new one. Besides, it was hard to clean up all the lamb’s wool stuffing and bits of leather.
“Give it to me,” Celie said, snapping her fingers at him. Rufus ignored her. “Come on, give it!”
She looked around and spotted another toy the Castle had sent. It was made out of fur and looked like a squirrel that had been flattened. She ran over and picked it up, going toward Rufus with the flat squirrel in one hand. She clucked her tongue and shook the toy at him.
“Here, boy! Have Flat Squirrel! Flat Squirrel is funny! Let’s play with him!”
Rufus took one look at the thing hanging from her hand and stopped tearing up the ball. He backed away from her, cowering, making a weird whining noise.
“What’s the matter, Rufus?” She kept walking toward him, concerned now. “Come here, boy! What’s wrong?”
It dawned on her that his yellow eyes were fixed on the toy in her hand, and that was what he was backing away from. She put it behind her back, and he visibly relaxed. She tossed it behind a wicker chest that she kept his food and toys in, and he immediately bounded around her, clacking his beak happily.
“So, you’re terrified of mashed squirrels?” Celie was temporarily diverted from her disturbing questions about the Castle. “That’s interesting.”
Down the stairs in her bedchamber, she heard the door slam. She stiffened.
“Celie?”
“It’s just Bran,” she told Rufus, who had sensed her nervousness and let out a caw of alarm. “We’re up here,” she called down the stairs. She heard him make a muffled exclamation, and he started up the stairs. “This is the funniest thing; watch what happens if I show him that squir— You’re not Bran!”
She ended in a shriek, leaping backward as Pogue entered the tower with a stack of books in his arms. He froze for a moment, and then dropped the books with an oath when he saw Rufus. Rufus, for his part, extended his wings and let out a scream of rage at the intruder.
“What is that thing?” Pogue shouted. He looked like he was torn between defending Celie and running for his life.
“How did you get into my room?” Celie demanded.
“What? I came in through the door!” Pogue was still shouting. “But what is that thing?”
Now Pogue did take a few steps farther into the room and put his big, calloused hand on Celie’s shoulder, trying to tug her behind him and to the stairs. She didn’t budge, though, and Rufus let out another angry cry when he saw Pogue touching his beloved Celie.
“It’s okay, Pogue, it’s just a griffin,” Celie said, hoping to calm both Pogue and Rufus before someone heard Rufus’s cries. “Rufus, be quiet!”
“Rufus?” Pogue was still trying to move her away from the griffin. “You mean it came back? After it ate Khelsh?”
“No, he’s a new one. I hatched him from an egg. He’s not dangerous!”
Rufus kept on sounding what Celie guessed was some sort of griffin war cry, and he was either going to permanently deafen her or rouse the entire Castle. His fur stood on end, and his wings were still raised. She ducked under his left wing and ran to the wicker chest, retrieved Flat Squirrel, and held it aloft.
“Rufus! Be quiet!” Celie put all the command she could into her voice.
He turned, saw Flat Squirrel, and immediately cowered back.
She blew her sweaty hair out of her eyes. Then she waved the toy again. “Now, sit!”
Rufus sat.
“W
hat is that thing?” Pogue asked.
“I told you, it’s a griffin,” Celie said, impatient.
“No, that thing in your hand. It looks like a dead squirrel,” he said with revulsion.
“Oh, it’s a … toy squirrel,” Celie told him. She put it behind her back before Rufus started whining. “Rufus is afraid of it, for some reason.”
“Oh.” Pogue sagged against the door that led to the stairs. “Now, please tell me: How long have you had a griffin, and why isn’t everyone talking about it?”
“No one knows except Bran,” Celie said. “And you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone, either.” She looked him in the eyes. “Promise me, Pogue. You have to help me protect him.”
“But Bran knows?”
“Bran knows.”
“All right, I promise,” he said. “But … you hatched it? Did you … sit on the nest?”
Celie sighed. She picked up Rufus’s ball and began to toss it for him again while she related the story of finding the egg. Pogue listened with his mouth slightly open, and when she was done, he sank down on his haunches. He held out a hand to Rufus, who crept forward and nibbled at his fingers playfully.
“A griffin,” Pogue said in awe. “A real, living griffin.”
Rufus bit him.
“Ouch! Nasty little—”
“Rufus! Don’t make me get Flat Squirrel!”
Rufus decided to ignore Pogue and went to the far side of the tower to see if there was anything interesting in his food bowl. Celie bent down and picked up one of the books that Pogue had dropped.
“What is this?” It looked like a bestiary, a description of animals from all over Sleyne.
“Bran asked me to bring you these,” Pogue said. “I didn’t understand why, before. He told me to tell you to look for anything about ‘our friend’s family’ in them.” He pointed at the griffin, who was now drinking noisily, splashing water everywhere. “I still can’t believe you have a griffin in your bedroom. Well … in your tower.” He looked around. “Actually, I didn’t know you had a tower of your own. I don’t remember seeing this one before. Wouldn’t it be right above the main hall?”