Doubleborn (20 page)

Clean, and in fresh clothes, Tim felt a surge of anger and shame. Smedge and the others had gone to classes. The dormitory was empty. Tim was missing a lot of lessons these days, being so tired in the morning. He dragged his bedclothes into something like tidy and lay down and slept.

He was thirsty when he woke, and hungry. His head ached and his back tingled from wounds closing over.

He rolled over and groaned.

“Feeling bad?” asked Smedge.

Tim moved to see him sitting on the bed.

“How long have you been there?”

“I can make you feel better,” said Smedge.

“Why are you watching me?”

Smedge’s hand was so fast that Tim didn’t see the smack coming. It stung his face and jerked his head to the side, hurting his neck. He curled up, hands protecting his head, and made a quick spell to send Smedge a neck pain to match his own.

Smedge laughed.

“Is that the best you can do?” he said.

He batted the spell away and Tim’s pain doubled. He yelped.

Smedge grabbed Tim’s wrist, pulled his arm away from his head and spattered a series of slaps on to him, palm open, heavy and hard. They thudded into Tim’s head, sending it bouncing off the pillow and back into Smedge’s hand, blow after blow.

Smedge stopped, let Tim relax and gave him a final, reeling slap that drove Tim’s face against the mattress.

“Magic’s a good weapon,” said Smedge, in a very calm voice, as though he was a teacher, instructing a class. “But you should never use it against someone with stronger magic. It will only hurt you all the more. And sometimes,” he continued, “it’s just so much nicer to use your hands.”

He raised his arm again. Tim cowered.

“With your hands,” said Smedge, “you can feel the slap landing.”

Tim waited for the next attack.

“Come on,” said Smedge. “Get up. There’s work to do.”

Tim uncurled and slid to the floor. He stood and faced Smedge, keeping out of arm’s length.

“I don’t want to be a dog any more,” he said. “I don’t want to be your dog.”

“That’s a pity,” said Smedge. “Because that’s just what you are. Now, come with me.”

“I’m going to lessons. Stay away from me.”

Smedge moved closer and raised his arm. Tim was taller than Smedge, stronger; he braced himself for the fight.

Smedge paused, smiled, lowered his arm.

“Down, boy,” he said.

Tim felt the spell overwhelm him. He struggled. It took tight hold. He gathered all his magic and resisted. Sweat shone on his forehead. His chest hurt.

Smedge was relaxed and amused.

“It’s so funny,” he said. “Like watching a baby trying to lift a farm cart.”

Tim stumbled and fell. His claws rattled on the dormitory floorboards. His tail swished against the bed. Smedge clicked his fingers.

“Come on, boy.”

Tim trotted after him and was pleased when Smedge stroked his ears. He wagged his tail and licked the back of Smedge’s hand.

At the great gate of the college Smedge pushed a jerkin into Tim’s face. It smelled of Tamrin.

“Go find,” said Smedge. “Off you go. Find her. Bring her to me.”

Tim bounded off, nose to the ground, delighting in the many scents of the market and the countryside, and always following the scent of Tamrin. How pleased Smedge would be when Tim found her. How pleased Tim would be when Smedge called him a good boy again.

Smedge watched him disappear. He skirted the walls of the college, found back streets, the town middens, the earth closets. He crouched, silent, simple. The creatures of the dank alleys, who had scurried away, stopped noticing him and returned. When all was still he snapped out his arm and seized a rat. He bit off its head, sucked at the neck, tore the stomach open and ripped at it with yellow teeth. Pleasure of rat flooded through him. He shrank, shifted and shaped himself into rat and set off for Boolat with news.

Vengeabil watched Tim disappear, too. The old storeman leaned on the parapet on the tower of the college.

“You’ll need keeping an eye on, young Tim,” he said. ||

Glass reflected steel. The image bounced off the surface and rebounded over and over again.

Starback arced his back, reared up and flexed long talons.

The air was thick with reflected light. The mirrors caught it, threw it back, tossed it with pitiless mimicry, till it meshed and trapped Starback in its net.

The door slammed open. The first kravvin moved into the perplexed space. It hesitated, saw itself, stepped back, recovered and scurried in.

Another followed and another. Starback wheeled, spewed fire and spattered them, staining the nearest mirrors. Reckless of death they poured in, clambering over the ruins of the first. There was not enough fire in the world to destroy them all.

They crammed into the doorway, forbidding escape. They swarmed on the floor, grabbing at Starback. Sharp legs prodded and pierced his skin. Sharp spit from blank mouths stung his eyes. He flapped and rose up and sought an escape.

He looked at himself in a large mirror, trapped and tormented, frightened beyond fear. For a moment it seemed to Starback that, instead of looking at himself, he looked at Sam.

The illusion passed and he saw himself again.

The reality passed and he saw, through the reflecting surface, a room, a route.

With a shriek of anger and pain he flew directly towards the sheet of polished steel, ready to crack his head open on the cold resistance rather than submit to the fury of the kravvins.

Tamrin screamed and the figure stepped through the mirror into the room and seized her.

“Stop. Who are you?” she shouted.

The grip wrenched her wrist. She screamed again, in pain.

A shower of flame sprayed her face. She tumbled down. The figure fell over her and landed beyond.

The creatures behind the glass pressed their no-faces against it. Were they looking through? Could they see her? It seemed they couldn’t pass.

She wheeled her feet, not knowing which way to escape.

The bloodied tailor lay in one way, wet-gasping, eyes wide and weak.

The mirror lay another way, with monsters clawing at the fragile barrier.

The other way lay a hunched form, with scaled skin, fierce talons, smoke-wreathed and unknown.

She clambered to her knees and looked at it.

The smoke began to clear.

The face emerged.

Sam.

Winny watched helplessly as the kravvins broke the barrier and surged forward, attacking her home, her father, and Starback.

She heard the hissing, the screams, the rattling feet on the storeroom. She watched the red army devour the building. Saw the roof torn open, the door penetrated.

“Sam.”

She only dared make an urgent whisper, like a child in the night, desperate for attention, fearful of being heard calling.

Sam moaned and twitched. He flung off the corner of his cloak in his sleeping frenzy. A tongue of flame licked his lips.

“Please, Sam,” she said. “Please. They’re being killed.”

She leaned over to shake him.

The shattering sound of a thousand windows ripped the air.

Winny jumped to her feet, looked back at the house. It was embraced by a rainbow of light. Numberless shards of glass showered down over the storeroom, catching the lamplight and breaking it into a shout of colour.

She held her gaze until the glass settled, the colour faded and fled. She turned back to Sam.

“Sam?”

The boy had gone.

Starback crouched, teeth bared, nostrils wide, eyes of polished yellow stone.

He sprang up, tested his wings, soared high, swooped down, and settled by her in a fret of smoke and flame.

“Where’s Sam?” she shouted. “What’s happening?”

Tamrin couldn’t decide if it was a cloak or wings that covered Sam. She edged nearer.

“Sam?”

He opened his eyes.

She touched his cheek.

“Sam.”

He gasped. She drew back to avoid being licked by the flames.

He sat up. The wings decided to be a cloak. The talons and scales had been only a trick of the half-light.

He looked at her, shook his head, closed his eyes, looked again.

He started to lie down again, exhausted.

Tamrin shook him.

“Sam. Wake up.”

He struggled to sit upright. She helped him to steady himself. He looked at her, looked around and let his eyes settle on something just behind her. Tamrin looked over her shoulder.

Shoddle was grasping his throat with both hands. Blood flowed from between his fingers.

“What’s happened?” asked Sam.

“I stabbed him. In the throat.” She held up the scissors. “It was an accident.”

Sam managed to stand.

“Can we help him?” he asked.

Tamrin indicated the mirror. A legion of kravvins clawed at the polished surface.

“Him first,” said Sam.

Shoddle mouthed sloppily at them. The words drowned in blood. Only the expression on his face revealed his thoughts.

“He doesn’t like you,” said Sam. “Why’s he dressed in rags?”

Shoddle’s neat suit was exposed as a jumble of stitched sacking.

“Never mind. He’s going to die. And I need him to talk to us.”

Sam ripped Shoddle’s left sleeve away and, moving the tailor’s hands to one side, slid it beneath them, winding it round his throat. He leaned back, fingered the weight around his neck, as he always did when he was concentrating.

“Give me the scissors,” he said.

Tamrin didn’t like to hand them over.

“Come on.”

“Can’t I do it?”

“What?”

“Whatever you want them for.”

“Give them to me.”

Tamrin set her mouth into a hard line.

“You never used to be so bossy.”

Sam smiled.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said.

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.

Shoddle beat his fist against the floor and made a wet noise of contempt.

Tamrin handed them over and felt as though she was betraying herself.

Sam closed the scissors, held the handles in his fist, and, before Shoddle could flinch away, thrust them into the tailor’s neck.

Tamrin shouted.

Sam felt sick.

Shoddle shrieked, spraying blood over them both. His hands unclenched. He relaxed. The blood had stopped flowing. It seemed to Tamrin that his pain had gone.

“That won’t last for long,” said Sam. “Now, if you want me to do something better you’ll have to talk first.”

Shoddle was instantly sly and aggressive, now that the danger was, for the moment, tamed. He looked at the mirror.

“Come on,” he whispered to the kravvins. “Come and get them.”

“Stop that,” said Tamrin. “Or I’ll pull out the scissors and watch you bleed to death.”

“You would, too,” said Shoddle. “I think you would.” He looked at Sam. “You wouldn’t, though.”

“Maybe,” said Sam. “But I wouldn’t stop her.”

Shoddle leaned back.

“I’m too tired to tell you now,” he said. “Finish the job and I’ll tell you.”

Sam walked over to the window and looked at the stars.

“Pull the scissors out,” he said to Tamrin. “We’re wasting our time.”

Tamrin took them by the handle.

“No!” Shoddle screamed.

“Tell us,” said Tamrin. “Who am I? And where did I come from?”

“I was sent for,” said Shoddle. “To make new clothes, expensive ones.” He wasn’t spitting blood any more but his voice still gurgled. “It was not much of a journey, the way soft, the roads good. And the house. When I saw the house—” He tried to rub his hands together but it made him topple over and Sam had to help him to sit upright again. “You’ve got your hands wet,” Shoddle laughed. “Straighten these scissors, will you?”

Sam walked away.

“No? All right. To say it was a big house would not be enough. It was big, and it was fine, with enough rooms for a village to live in. A small village, anyway. And it had a moat, with a little bridge, and there were chimneys shaped like willow catkins. Come to think of it, there were willow catkins on the trees when I got there, so it must have been spring. And I knew I could make a lot of money, at a house like that.”