Because f there is no change, what will disturb our peaceful lives?
KING ENDOR’S DECREE
‘Claudia!’ Finn rolled over as a firelock blazed; the tree next to him was scorched with diagonal fire. ‘Get down!’ Did she have no idea how to act in an ambush? Her horse was panicking; he took a deep breath and ran from cover, grabbing it by the bridle. ‘Get down!’ She jumped, and they both fell. Then they were squirming into the bushes, lying fiat, breathless. Around them the forest roared with rain.
‘Hurt?’
‘No. You?’
‘Bruised. Nothing serious.’ Claudia dragged soaked hair from her eyes. ‘I can’t believe this. Sia would never order it. Where are they?’ Finn was watching the trees intently. ‘Over there, behind that thicket, maybe. Or high in the branches.’ That alarmed her. She twisted to see but rain blinded her She wriggled further back, her hands deep in leaf- flitter, the stink of decaying foliage rich in her face.
‘Now what?’
‘We regroup,’ Finn’s voice was steady. ‘Weapons? I’ve got a sword and knife.’
‘There’s a pistol in my saddlebag.’ But the horse had already bolted. She glanced sidelong at Finn. ‘Are you enjoying this?’ He laughed, a rare event. ‘It livens things up. But back in Incarceron we used to be the ones doing the ambushing.’ Lightning blinked. Its brilliance lit the wood and the rain came down harder, hissing through the bracken.
‘I could try and crawl to that oak: Finn muttered in her ear.
‘And get round …’
‘There might be an army out there:
‘One man. Maybe two, no more: He squirmed back, the bushes rustling. Instantly two arrows thwacked into the bole of the tree above them. Claudia gasped.
Finn froze. ‘Well, maybe not.’
‘This is the Steel Wolves,’ she hissed.
Finn was silent a moment. Then he said, ‘Can’t be. They could have killed me last night: She stared at him through the downpour. ‘What?’
‘They left this next to my head.’ He held up the dagger; the snarling wolfshead dripping in his fingers.
Then as one, they turned. Voices were approaching through the hissing forest.
‘See them?’
‘Not yet.’ She eased forward.
‘I think our enemy has.’ Finn watched the small movements of branches. ‘I think they’re puffing out.’
‘Look.’ A waggon was rumbling along the track, precariously laden with mown hay, the loose cover flapping in the wind. A brawny man walked beside it and another drove, sackcloth hoods covering their faces, their boots thick with mud.
‘Peasants.’ Claudia said. ‘Our only chance.’
‘The archers might still be—’
‘Come on.’ Before he could stop her she scrambled out.
‘Wait! Please, stop!’ The men stared. The big one swung a heavy cudgel up as he saw Finn behind her, sword in hand. ‘What’s this?’ he said sourly.
‘Our horses were frightened and ran off. By the lightning.’ Claudia shivered in the rain, puffing her coat around her.
The big serf grinned. ‘Bet you had to hold each other tight then?’ She drew herself upright, aware that she was soaked and her hair dripped in a tangled mess, made her voice cold and imperious. ‘Look, we need someone to go and find our horses, and we need...’
‘The rich always need.’ The cudgel tapped against the raw red hands. ‘And we all have to jump but it won’t always be like that. One day soon…’
‘Enough, Rafe.’ The voice came from the waggon, and Claudia saw that the driver had pushed back his hood. His face was wrinkled, his body bent. He seemed old, but his voice was strong enough. ‘Follow us, missy. We’ll get you to the cottages, and then we’ll find your horses.’ With a low hup! he whipped up the ox, and the heavy beast lumbered past. Claudia and Finn kept close under the shelter of the towering load of hay, wisps slipping off and drifting down on them. Above the trees the sky had begun to clear; the rain ended quite suddenly, and a shaft of sunlight broke through, lighting the distant aisles of the forest. The storm was passing as quickly as it had come.
Finn glanced back. The muddy track was empty. A blackbird began to sing in its stillness.
‘They’ve gone,’ Claudia muttered.
‘Or they’re following.’ Finn turned. ‘How far are these cottages?’
‘Just here, lad, just here. Don’t you fret. I won’t let Rafe rob you, even if you are Court folk. The Queen’s people, are you?’ Claudia opened her mouth indignantly but Finn said, ‘My girl works for the Countess of Harken. She’s a lady’ maid.’ She fixed him with a stare of astonishment, but the wizened driver nodded. ‘And you?’ He shrugged. ‘A groom in the stables. We borrowed the horses, it was such a fine day. . . We’ll get into terrible trouble now. Beaten, probably.’ Claudia watched him. His face was as doleful as if he believed the story himself; something about him had changed in a moment to an apprehensive servant, his best livery ruined by the mud and rain.
‘Ah well. We were all young once.’ The old man winked at Claudia. ‘Wish I was young again.’ Rafe guffawed with mirth.
Claudia set her lips tight, but tried to look miserable. She was cold and wet enough for it.
When the waggon clattered through a broken gateway she muttered quietly to Finn, ‘What are you up to?’
‘Keeping them on our side. If they knew who we were …’
‘They’d jump to help! We could pay …’ He was watching her strangely. ‘Sometimes, Claudia, I think you don’t understand anything at all.’
‘Such as what?’ she snapped.
He nodded ahead. ‘Their lives. Look at this.’ Cottages was hardly a word for them. Two lopsided, squalid buildings squatted at the edge of the track. Their thatch was in holes, wattle and daub walls patched with hurdles. A few ragged children ran out and stared, silent, and as Claudia came closer she saw how thin they were, how the youngest coughed and the oldest was bow-legged with rickets.
The waggon rumbled into the lee of the buildings. Rafe yelled at the children to find the horses and they scattered, and then he ducked under one of the low doorways. Claudia and Finn waited for the older man to climb down. His hunched back was even more evident when he stood, no taller than Finn’s shoulder.
‘This way, lord’s groom and lady’s maid. We don’t have much, but we do have a fire.’ Claudia frowned. She followed him down the steps under the wooden lintel.
At first she saw nothing but the fire. The interior was black.
Then the stink rose up and hit her with its full force, and it was so bad she gasped and stopped dead, and only Finn’s shove in her back made her stumble on. The Court had its share of bad smells but there was nothing like this; a stench of animal dung and urine and sour milk and the fly-buzzed remnants of bones that cracked in the straw under her feet.
And above all, the sweet smell of damp, as if the whole hovel was settling deep into the earth, tilting and softening, its wooden posts rotten and beetle-bored.
As her eyes became used to the gloom she saw sparse furnishings — a table, joint-stools, a box-bed built into the wall. There were two windows, small and wood-slatted, a branch of ivy growing in through one.
The old man dragged up a stool for her. ‘Sit, missy, and dry yourself. You too, lad. They call me Tom. Old Tom.’ She didn’t want to sit. There were certainly fleas in the straw The miserable poverty of the place sickened her. But she sat, holding out her hands to the paltry fire.
‘Put some kindling on.’ Tom shuffled to the table.