A Princess of Landover (20 page)

I
t is not true that things are never as bad as they seem or that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence or that there is a silver lining inside every cloud. These are things we
wish
were true, but which are more often than not false hopes. So it was with little surprise that as Mistaya and her companions crested the final hill leading up to Libiris, she found all her fears of what awaited her fully realized.

“Oh, no,” she murmured, just softly enough that the others could not hear her, and swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat.

Libiris was like something out of a particularly nasty nightmare. It rose against the darkening horizon as if seeking to imitate Dracula’s castle: stonework all dingy and windswept, mortar cracked and in places crumbling, windows mostly dark and shuttered, and parapets spiked with iron lance heads and lined with razor wire. Towers soared skyward as if seeking to puncture holes in the heavens, and the heavy ironbound wooden doors facing toward her were locked and barred in a way that left no room for doubt about how visitors could expect to be greeted. If this building was intended as a library, she thought, the builders had a peculiar way of showing it. Libiris had the look of something that had been built with the intention of keeping people out, not letting them in.

Things didn’t look much better as Mistaya shifted her horrified gaze away from its rugged walls, which oddly enough cast shadows in all directions, a phenomenon she would not have believed possible. Woods surrounded Libiris, dark and deep and unfriendly, the trees leafless and skeletal, the limbs withered, and the forest floor littered with deadwood and bones. She had to look twice and carefully to be certain of this last, but bones there were, some collected in small piles, as if gathered by the wind like leaves. Spiky plants and thorny brush filled in the gaps between cracked and blackened trunks, and the smells were not of fresh greenery but of decay and mold.

It all looked, she thought suddenly, as Sterling Silver had been described to her when under the sway of the tarnish upon her father’s arrival years earlier. How odd.

“Let’s go home,” Poggwydd said at once and backed away.

She was half inclined to take him up on his suggestion. But instead she turned to Edgewood Dirk, who was sitting calmly next to her, washing his paws. “Is this really it?”

“Yes, it is.” The emerald eyes gleamed as they found hers. “Might you be thinking of taking the G’home Gnome up on his offer?”

She frowned. They could talk like this comfortably now because her irritating companions would no longer come near the cat. Neither Poggwydd nor Shoopdiesel approached within a dozen yards after the events of last night. Apparently overcome by either greed or hunger, they had attempted to lay hands on Dirk, probably with the intention of parting him from his skin. The effort had failed miserably. She still wasn’t sure what had happened, since she had been asleep at the time. A flash of light had awoken her in time to watch both Gnomes run screaming into the night. Today, returned from wherever they had fled to, their fingers burned and their faces blackened, they had made it a point to stay well clear of Edgewood Dirk.

“If I were to leave and go elsewhere, would you come with me?” she asked anxiously.

“No, I would not. I have business here that I must attend to.”

“Business? What sort of business?”

“That is for me to know.” Dirk’s voice tone was insulting. “A cat never discusses his business with humans, not even Princesses. A cat never explains and never apologizes. A cat never alibis. You must accept a cat as it is and for what it is and not expect more than the pleasure of its company. In this case, you must remain at Libiris if you wish to share mine.”

She didn’t care to remain at Libiris or to share the pleasure of his company, but she didn’t really have a choice if she wanted to remain hidden from her parents. If she left Dirk, she left also the concealment that being with him offered. Her father would be quick enough to find her if she acted precipitously.

“What did you do to the Gnomes last night?” she asked, changing the subject. She hesitated. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

The cat yawned. “I don’t mind. I gave them a small sample of what it means to lay hands on a Prism Cat. No one is allowed to do that.”

“No, I imagine not.”

“Rather like your mud puppy. Magical creatures are not to be handled. We have our defenses, each peculiar to the species or, in some cases, to the individual creature. Touch us at your peril.” He glanced at her. “You weren’t thinking of trying, were you?”

She shook her head. “No, I was just curious. I don’t know anything about Prism Cats. I told you before that my father never spoke of you.”

Dirk glanced back at the G’home Gnomes, perhaps to reassure himself that they were still keeping their distance. “I shall speak for myself, then,” he said. “You need to know something of the character of the company you keep. My character is obviously impeccable, but a few words of further elucidation couldn’t hurt. I am a fairy creature, as you know. I live in the mists except when it suits me. I stay pretty much in one place except when I travel. I keep mostly to myself except when curiosity compels me to engage with others. Such as now, with you.”

“Curiosity about me?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

The cat regarded her. “Well, I should think it would be obvious. You are a very curious creature. I want to see what will become of you.”

“Become of me?”

“It would help this relationship tremendously if you would stop repeating my words back to me.” Edgewood Dirk rose and stretched. “As for what I did to your companions, I simply gave them a small demonstration of what happens when you misbehave around me. Watch.”

The Gnomes must have heard this because they began backing away hurriedly. Mistaya held her ground, unwilling to display anything remotely approaching cowardice. The Prism Cat ignored them, closing his eyes and arching his back, his body going so still that it seemed to have turned to stone. All at once, it began to glow, and then it did turn into something
like
stone, changing from fur and flesh to a crystalline form. Emerald eyes glittered out of planes of crystal that shimmered and reflected the forest and the first of Landover’s eight moons, which had risen in the east. It ceased to be immobile and began to shift about as if turned to clear liquid glass. He faced her for a long moment, and then the light of his body flooded back into his eyes and he became a cat again.

“There is a small sample,” he advised. “If you try to touch me, of course, there is more. Ask your foolish friends for details, when you have a moment. There is more to my magic than this, but I don’t think we have to dwell on it just now. It is sufficient to say that not much that walks on two legs or four can stand against a Prism Cat.”

Big whoop
, Mistaya thought. The cat was so full of himself that there wasn’t room for a speck of humility. Irritated, she turned her attention back to the blackened structure in front of them. “So what do you suggest we do now?” she asked him.

The cat followed her gaze and cocked his head. “I suggest that you go up to the door and ask for lodging. Once inside, you can figure things out at your leisure.”

She glared at him. “Why don’t you go up to the door and ask them to let us in. You’re the one with all the magic!”

“Am I?” he asked mildly. He regarded her calmly for a moment, and then stretched anew. “No, I think you had better be the one to ask,” he said. “People get nervous when cats speak to them. They are much more accepting of people than animals in these situations, I’ve found.”

“That seems a rather broad generalization, even coming from you. But I guess they can’t refuse a Princess of Landover, can they?”

“Probably not. However, I wouldn’t tell them who you are, if I were you. Which, thankfully, I am not.”

“Why not? I mean, why not tell them who I am?”

The cat blinked. “At the very least, they would let your father and mother know that you’ve arrived safely.”

She grimaced. He was right, of course.

“So I am just supposed to pretend that I’m some peasant girl out wandering the countryside, lost or whatever, and I’ve found my way here—poor, pitiful me—and I need shelter?”

She glanced into the darkness, where Poggwydd and Shoopdiesel sat huddled together, watching. “What about them?” she demanded, turning back again. “What am I supposed to say about … ?”

But Edgewood Dirk had disappeared.

She stared at the empty space he had occupied, not quite believing that he wasn’t there. Then she looked all around, searching the darkness. Nothing Not a sign of him. Anger flooded through her. He had abandoned her! Just like that! He had left her on her own!

“Fine!” she muttered, furious now. “Who needs you?”

She descended the hill in determined silence, not bothering to look behind her to see if the G’home Gnomes were following, knowing that they would be, resigned to the fact that she would probably never be rid of them. The descent took some time, and as she drew nearer to her destination she was able to determine that it did not improve in looks upon closer inspection. Everything seemed to be in disrepair and suffering from obvious neglect. No
lights burned in the windows or from the towers, and the darkness suggested a total absence of life. Perhaps that was how things were these days at Libiris, she thought hopefully. Maybe its tenants had abandoned her. Maybe there was no one here anymore, and she wouldn’t have to beg for admittance. She would just have to find a way in—and the place would be hers for as long as she wished!

Excited by the idea, she hurried ahead to the ironbound doors, gaining confidence as she neared. Of course there was no one here! Why would there be? Who would live in a place like this? Even the overseer had long since departed, discouraged with the work his charge had required, disappointed in the lack of support he was receiving from the Kingdom. After all, no one had come here for years. Not even Abernathy or Questor Thews had come. They just assumed that someone was still here.

She felt positively buoyant.

She reached the doors, grasped the huge iron knocker, and rapped it hard against the plate, announcing her arrival. The sharp clang of iron on iron echoed through the stillness and slowly died away. Nothing happened. She waited impatiently, already searching for a way to open the door from without. Impulsively, she tried the handles, but the door was securely barred. She might have to chance using magic, just a little, to gain admittance. Or maybe there was another way in, through another door on another wall. Surely there was no reason to keep such a decrepit place as Libiris locked up once it was abandoned.

Then, rather too suddenly, a small door set within the larger doors, close down to the ground, popped open. A head crested with a tuft of white hair poked out, and a pair of gimlet eyes looked up into hers. “What is it?” the owner asked in a dialect she could only barely understand.

“I’m seeking shelter for myself and my friends,” she declared, still recovering from her shock at actually finding someone here.

The head tilted upward slightly, and she saw a face that most closely resembled that of a rodent, long and pointed and hairy. The
eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she refused to be intimidated and held their gaze with her own. “Can you let us in, please?” she pressed, trying hard to sound both desperate and helpless and not angry.

Teeth flashed behind a wicked smile. “No, I cannot. Go away!”

The head disappeared back inside, and the door slammed shut.

Mistaya stood staring at the tiny portal in a mix of fury and frustration, very tempted to knock down the doors using her magic and march inside, announcing who she was as she did so and demanding that her tormentor be made to answer for his uncivilized behavior. She was cold and tired and hungry, and she did not deserve to be treated like this.

The G’home Gnomes appeared at her elbow, their wizened faces looked up into her own tentatively. “Maybe we ought to just leave,” Poggwydd suggested from one side, while Shoopdiesel nodded in hasty agreement from the other.

Maybe that would have been the best thing for it, but Mistaya was already set on doing the exact opposite. She had put up with enough of people pushing her around. She reached up for the knocker and rapped on the plate once more, much harder this time. She had only a few seconds to wait before the smaller door popped open anew. The little man reappeared; he must have been waiting just on the other side. He was angry now and not bothering to hide it.

“I told you to go away!” he snapped.

“Go away to where?” she snapped back. “We are in the middle of nowhere. Don’t you know anything of the King’s guidelines to hospitality? He wrote them himself when he was made King, years ago. All strangers are to be given food and shelter when they seek it in genuine need; none is to be turned away without good reason. What reason do you have to turn us away? Are you frightened of a girl and two G’home Gnomes? What is your name?”

All this appeared to catch the ferret-faced fellow off guard. He shrank back a bit under the force of her wrath. She watched his mouth tighten and his eyes fix on her belligerently.

“My name is Rufus Pinch!” he snapped. “And I do only what I have been ordered to do and nothing more. I don’t know anything about the King’s guidelines to hospitality.”

“Well, you should!” she shot back, even though she had just made it all up. “I shall be forced to report you to someone who can afford to take the time to come out here and instruct you on their usage! Turning away supplicants in the middle of the night is unacceptable behavior!”

The little man hunched his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Well, I can’t let you in,” he repeated.

Things seemed to have reached an impasse, but suddenly another section of door—this one apparently the upper half of the smaller—swung open and a second figure stepped into view. It was a boy, not much older than she was, rather tall and angular in build, his black hair worn long, his jaw lightly bearded, and his eyes bright with secret laughter.