Chapter
11
Bran had sent out five groups of men to search the passageways for Wizard Arkwright, and by midnight, only four of them had returned. None of the four groups had found Arkwright, or seen any sign that he was hiding in the walls, which was discouraging to say the least. But discouragement turned to anxiety as the hours passed and the fifth group still had not returned.
Especially since the fifth group was the one led by King Glower.
“Bran, you’ve got to find him,” Queen Celina said in a low voice.
The family, minus King Glower, was standing just below the dais in the throne room. Lulath had gone to put his girls and Lorcan to bed, and Pogue had come in from the sheep meadow. He was armed with a handful of oatcakes to keep Arrow busy while they talked, and kept nervously taking bites out of the stale things himself.
“Which direction did they go?” Queen Celina asked.
“They were headed toward the lower levels,” Bran said, also speaking quietly so that those gathered in the throne room around them couldn’t hear. “The laundry, sewing room, pantries.”
“Right where he’s dared to steal food and blankets,” Queen Celina said, and Celie saw her mother’s eyes flutter closed for an instant. Bran started to say something, but she held up one hand. “Don’t tell me: your father insisted.”
“He did,” Bran confirmed. “I was torn between going there, and searching the passageways that run behind the Heart of the Castle and the throne room.” He looked pale and tense. “There are twice as many passages as there were before.” He cut his eyes at Celie and then said, “We gave each group a copy of Celie’s atlas . . . but I’m sorry, Cel, the passages weren’t there, so . . .”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Celie said, feeling awful. “If I’d spent more time fixing the atlas after we got back—”
“It’s not your fault, Celie darling,” the queen said, almost angrily. “It’s because the Castle is twice as large!
“I wish Owen had listened to me,” she went on. “I wanted to find another way!”
“If Arkwright is hidden in the walls,” Bran said, sounding defensive, “he could have heard us plotting. We needed to strike quickly.”
“I know,” Queen Celina said. “But it doesn’t make this situation any less upsetting—we’ve got to find your father and the men with him as quickly as may be.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks and then dropped them, smoothing her skirts so that no one would see how nervous she was. “And after that . . . Bran, if what you told me is true . . . we have to find Arkwright at once. We can’t wait for the College to help. We have to take care of him. Now.”
“I know that,” Bran said, his voice rising. People turned to look at them, and Bran scowled, ducking his head.
“What is it?” Celie asked. “What did Bran tell you?”
“It’s nothing,” Bran said.
“It isn’t nothing, or you would tell me,” Celie argued, frustrated. “Stop trying to keep secrets!”
“Bran, she has a point,” Queen Celina said. “None of us would be here if it weren’t for her.” She made a small gesture to gather Lilah, Lulath, and Pogue closer as well.
“Arkwright had plans—big plans,” Bran explained. “That’s why I locked him up and sent for someone from the College to collect him. It’s not just because of what he had done, but what he wanted to do.”
“Which is what?” Lilah’s eyes were enormous.
“He assumed that one day his uncle would send for him, and that he would return to Hatheland,” Bran said in a low voice. “They would finally raise an army of griffins, and take control of the Castle, and rule over their land like they had planned. When you all brought the Castle here, and the last of the griffins, he knew he’d never return.” Bran sighed and rubbed his face. “So he thought he’d just have to rule here. He told me that he and he alone truly understood the Castle, and the griffins, and that he’d share that with me if I let him free and helped him . . . depose Father.”
“You mean kill him?” Lilah said.
“He didn’t actually say that, but it was definitely implied,” Bran said, swallowing thickly. “Of course I refused. Even if he hadn’t wanted me to murder my own father, this is our Castle, our country, these are our griffins now, and I wasn’t going to betray any of that.”
Queen Celina squeezed his arm.
“He escaped the next day,” Bran said. “When I couldn’t find him in the Castle, I reckoned that he’d fled, possibly to cause trouble, possibly just to hide from me.” His eyes flashed. “I made my thoughts about his plot to rule Sleyne very clear.”
“He wants us all dead, and himself wearing the crown,” Pogue said in horror.
“The crown that Daddy is wearing right now,” Celie said, and didn’t bother to keep her voice down.
On the dais beside the throne, Lord Griffin raised his head and looked over. At his side, Lady Griffin continued to doze, blissfully unaware of what was happening. But her mate carefully rose and stepped away from her. He looked at the throne, and then paced around it, as though he, too, wondered where the king might be.
“We can track Daddy,” Celie said, a light dawning.
“What?” Bran looked down at her, and his face cleared. “Yes, I have all the things in my room! Pogue, I’ll need you to help me. Mother, could you bring me something of Father’s to use? Perhaps his nightshirt—”
“We don’t need all that,” Celie said, interrupting. “We only need him.”
She pointed to Lord Griffin, standing at attention next to the throne.
“You think he can track Father?” Bran looked skeptical. “Rufus could track you, I’m sure. But I don’t know how deep the bond goes between him and Father.”
Pogue looked up from feeding Arrow. “It’s deep enough, I think,” he said. “And well worth a try. At least while you put together your spell. That one is king of the griffins with good reason.”
Bran paused for a moment before he nodded. “It’s worth a try.”
“I’ll do it,” Celie offered. “You can get your spell ready if you want.”
“Come on, you,” Pogue said to Arrow as he followed Celie. “I’ll go with her,” he told Bran. He raised his voice and called out, “Sergeant Avery, we need you.”
Now all eyes were on Celie and her family, and she felt a prickle of nerves. She approached Lord Griffin and gave a little curtsy. The griffin stared at her.
“Sir, we need to find my father,” Celie said. “Can you help us? Can you help us find the king?” She mimed putting a crown on her own head.
She was never sure how much the griffins understood. The entire court had been speculating on this since the griffins had arrived. It might be sheer coincidence when they did something that someone asked them to do. Yet it seemed equally possible that they understood Sleynth perfectly, but chose not to pay attention most of the time.
Whether it was coincidence or true understanding, Celie didn’t know. But the king of the griffins screeched and leaped down from the dais. He paced twice in front of Celie, scenting the air, and then he walked out of the throne room. Celie, Pogue, and Sergeant Avery followed. As they passed Avery’s men, he signaled for three of them to follow, and they went out into the main hall.
Lord Griffin led them down the corridor toward the kitchens, but he stopped before he reached them. He sniffed for a moment and continued on. Then he stopped and scratched at the door of one of the cupboards that lined the corridor.
“Is that the entrance to a passage?” Pogue whispered.
“If it is, it’s not one I know about,” Celie admitted. She resisted the urge to find pencils and paper and make notes. She needed to find her father first.
They opened the cupboard, but it was full of towels. The guardsmen lifted them out and stacked them neatly to one side, and Pogue knocked on the back wall of the cupboard.
“It sounds solid,” he told Celie. “Do you know how to open these things?”
 
; “There should be a latch,” Celie said.
But no matter how she looked, she couldn’t see one. She ducked under the shelf that was just at the height of her chin, feeling every inch of the wooden paneling for a latch or a knot or something that would indicate an opening. She looked to Lord Griffin, but he was preening his wings, apparently done with guiding them. Celie pressed against the back of the cupboard with both hands, trying to see if the wood would give even a little.
There was a click and the back of the cupboard swung back into darkness.
“Very nice,” Pogue said. “Let’s move these.”
He pulled one of the shelves out and the guardsmen got the others. They stacked the shelves to one side and then stood back, waiting for Celie to lead.
“Your wings are spotless and you know it,” she said to Lord Griffin, who was still fussing over his feathers. “We need you to lead us to my father. Please.”
The griffin stared at her for a moment, but she refused to look away. Griffins were proud, and they were frightening and wonderful at the same time, but Celie was a princess, and she was not going to let anyone boss her around. Not even the king of the griffins.
After a long moment he bobbed his head and went into the passageway ahead of them. Celie made to follow, but there was a scream from down the corridor, and Rufus came barreling toward them, wings half-raised. Celie held up a hand to stop him, and he slid to a halt right in front of her. He made angry noises, as though upset that she was leaving him behind, or maybe demanding that she not go into the dark tunnel—she wasn’t sure.
But Lord Griffin turned around and silenced Rufus with a single sharp squawk of command. Rufus didn’t leave, however, and stared back at his father until Lord Griffin gave what Celie could only describe as a griffin shrug. The griffin king turned and proceeded down the dark passageway, and Celie and Rufus followed him. After a moment, Celie had to shove Rufus behind her, because the passages weren’t wide enough for them to walk side by side. Rufus yelped and Pogue apologized for stepping on his tail, and they stumbled on in the dark.
“Princess,” one of the men from the back called. “We’re losing the light from the doorway . . . can we light a lamp?”
“Oh, sorry,” Celie said.
Lord Griffin hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t want him to get too far ahead, so she felt along the wall as they kept walking. There were little stone ledges that held lamps and tinderboxes scattered throughout the passages.
There was a crack, and Pogue swore.
“Found a lamp,” he groaned.
“You’re not supposed to find it with your face,” one of the guards said, laughing. Then he made an oof noise like he’d been jabbed in the stomach and added, “My apologies, Sir Pogue.”
Pogue grunted a reply and lit the lamp as they walked, no mean feat, for Lord Griffin was keeping a brisk pace, as though he knew precisely where they were going. Pogue held the lamp high once it was lit, though there was really nothing to see but the endless stone passageway. There were cross passages, but the griffin king never turned. As far as Celie could tell, they were running along the back of the Castle, in the newer part that had just arrived. That meant that they were probably the first people who had walked that passageway for centuries.
Pogue had that thought at the same time as Celie.
“You’d think it would be dusty, or full of spiders,” he said.
“Spiders,” Sergeant Avery said. “Why? Were there a lot of spiders in that place?”
“Sergeant,” Pogue said, laughing, “don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders!”
“You can’t use a sword against a spider,” Sergeant Avery said, defensive.
“In the jungles of Bendeswe, they have spiders large enough to prey on the jungle wildcats,” Pogue said.
“Now, why in the name of all that’s holy would you tell me that?” Sergeant Avery said. “I could have lived a long and happy life without ever knowing that!”
“So could I,” Celie said fervently.
“Aw, Sergeant,” one of the guards said. “Now we know your weakness!” He laughed, but then Celie hissed and the man cut off abruptly.
Lord Griffin had stopped.
“What is it?” Pogue whispered.
Celie didn’t know, but the griffin king was highly alert. His wings were half-raised and the feathers around his neck were bristled. He was staring into the cross passage with unsettling intensity.
“What is it?” Celie whispered to him.
Rufus whined and butted her in the back with his head, trying to get her to move.
“Celie,” Pogue whispered. “I’m going to slide around you and Rufus.”
“And I’m right behind him,” Sergeant Avery said, and Celie heard the rasp of his sword being drawn. “Press yourself against the wall, Your Highness.”
Celie didn’t argue. The lamp cast almost no light into the cross passage, and she was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she and Rufus were, there at the front of the line in this narrow passage. If Lord Griffin didn’t step forward into the intersection more, they wouldn’t have any room to fight. But he wouldn’t move, he just stood.
Right as Pogue moved past Celie, Lord Griffin opened his beak and screamed a war cry. Pogue froze and Celie let out a much smaller scream of her own.
“All right?” Pogue asked as the sound died away.
“Yes, but you’re on my foot,” she said, pain shooting through her toes.
“Sorry!” Pogue stepped back as much as he could.
Then Lord Griffin moved, and Pogue followed him into the cross passage. Sergeant Avery was right behind him, squeezing past Celie with a muttered apology. Celie stepped out behind the sergeant, however, not letting his men get in her way. She had a sudden premonition of what they would find around the corner.
“Your Majesty!” Pogue cried.
Celie rounded the corner and saw that she was right, and she was both relieved and angry. Her father, King Glower, and his men were trussed up and stacked against the wall like luggage.
Chapter
12
“I can’t wake him,” Bran said, back in the throne room. “I can’t wake any of them.” He was visibly shaking. “I don’t even know why he bothered to tie them up.” He ran a trembling hand over his face. “I can’t wake them.”
The court had been dismissed and it was only the Glower family, Lulath, Pogue, and Sergeant Avery. The king and the men who had been with him were lying on cots in the Heart of the Castle, with Sergeant Avery’s best men to guard them. Maisy, the little maid who had also been stricken down by Arkwright’s spell, had been brought to join them so that Bran could study them all at once.
“You need time,” Queen Celina said. “No one expects you to cure them immediately.”
“But . . . it’s Father.” Bran’s voice cracked.
“You can do this, Bran,” Queen Celina said firmly.
“I don’t want to be Glower the Eightieth again,” Rolf said, ashen faced.
“You won’t be,” the queen told him, putting one arm around her younger son and giving him a little squeeze. “I will be the acting regent while your father is . . . unwell.”
“What are your orders, my queen?” Sergeant Avery was clearly uncomfortable just standing there, when the king was under a spell and there was a wicked wizard loose in the walls and both the Royal Wizard and the Crown Prince were almost in tears.
Celie could appreciate that, as well. She didn’t want to stand there one more minute. She wanted to go, to fight, to do something. She wanted to shake her father awake, and run Arkwright through with a sword. She also wanted to hide in her room and cry, or go flying on Rufus to let the wind dry her tears and carry away the sound of her sobs.
Queen Celina drew a deep breath, thinking. Her eyes closed for a moment.
“He’s like a rat,” offered Pogue, interrupting the queen’s meditation and turning all eyes to him. “We need to treat him like one, and flush him out of the walls before he causes more dama
ge. Your Majesty.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Queen Celina asked.
“The guards marked the walls of the passages they checked,” Pogue said. “And that’s a good start. We need to make sure everyone knows them, though, and understands the code. We need to look for any signs that he uses those passages, or sleeps in them.”
The queen nodded. “And I have my lock,” she said.
“What’s this?” Bran recovered himself, squinting at his mother.
“Oh, yes, it’s so clever,” Celie said. “We used it today—yesterday, I mean. It was amazing!”
“We locked the trapdoor in Celie’s bedroom,” Lilah put in. “And now it’s just . . . gone! Poof! I couldn’t believe it!”
“Poof?” Bran was frowning now. “Mother . . . you’re not dabbling, are you? Is that wise?”
“Bran,” the queen said. “I don’t appreciate the term ‘dabbling’, and I’m not going to discuss the wisdom of my actions here.” She eyed Sergeant Avery, who found something fascinating to stare at on his own boots. “The point is that I have a way of getting rid of the doors and passages in this Castle!”
“But what if this goes wrong?” Bran argued. “It worked the first time, yes, but . . .” He gave her a meaningful look.
No one knew what to say for a moment, and then Pogue broke the silence by clearing his throat.
“Am I the only one who is upset about the fact that Celie had a trapdoor in her bedroom?” he asked. “I mean, not that it’s my place to be upset . . . but . . . how long has that been there?”
“All my life,” Celie said, shrugging. “It goes directly into the sewing room below.” Then she corrected herself. “It went into the sewing room, that is. It’s gone now.”
“It was there when I was a child, too,” Queen Celina said. “That used to be my room.”
“And it’s gone?” Bran looked like he was struggling with several emotions at once. “Just not there? Or doesn’t open anymore?”
“It’s gone,” Celie said. “The door is just leaning against the wall now, and it’s smooth stone underneath. And in the sewing room, there’s just ceiling, no more wooden hatch.”