White Eyes (part two)

Morgan stalked past the other boys haughtily, treading heavily on the scroll boy’s chest as she passed. It was as though he were no more than a beetle on the ground – though it’s likely that if he had been Morgan would have shown him more mercy.
Nose in the air, she stalked out of the dusty square and sauntered off down the road. Her swagger did not last for long, however, as no sooner had she gone out of sight of the boys than her father appeared before her, and at his shoulder, the baker.
John was so red in the face that Morgan wondered for a moment how long he had been running. But then she noticed a vein pulsing in his forehead, and recognized it as a bad sign. She began to back off slowly.
John and the baker advanced, her father growing redder all the while. Finally he exploded.
“What on Earth did you think you were doing?” He spluttered. “Running of with a crowd of ruffians – ’’
“Boys, Father, no older than myself.”
“RUFFIANS!” Barked John, so loudly that Morgan jumped. “Running off with a bunch of ruffians to compete in some tournament or other – ’’
“What’s so bad about that?”
“YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!” John’s face had turned the colour of a ripe plum.
“Father! Please don’t talk nonsense. They were all my age, and I could have thrashed all of them single-handedly.”
Her father’s mouth opened and closed in astonishment at being accused of talking nonsense.
At this point, the baker intervened. “Steady, John,” he said. His voice was high pitched and strangely clipped. “Now, young lady,” he started, waggling his finger in front of Morgan’s nose in the most infuriating manner, “You’re dad here’s bin working hard all morning, and trying to find your mother – which’s cost him a bit of time an’ money, mind you – ’’
“Mister Baker,” interrupted Morgan sweetly, “would you mind not reminding me of something I’m already quite aware of, and if you’re going to speak at all, please inform me of something that’s not a waste of time.”
The baker flushed and fidgeted with his hat. “Now, Morgan, t’ain’t fitting for a lovely young lady like yourself to go round saying things like that. You ain’t the one to do it, I tell you, and there’s not one who could tell you better, save perhaps your father, who’s bin working hard all morning, and trying to find your mother – which’s cost him a bit of time an’ – ’’
“You’ve said that already,” interrupted Morgan rudely. Nose in the air, she turned on her heel and flounced off, letting her father’s angry cries for her to “Come back here this moment” fall on deaf ears.
As soon as she rounded the corner, she broke into a run, and did not halt once until she had reached the Elnari tree. 

*

It seemed as though the tree welcomed her as she laid her hands upon its firm bark. It seemed to help her up even more readily than ever before, almost as if it were apologising for something. Morgan began absently to wonder what it could be, and then remembered her fall. “It’s all right,” she murmured softly, to nothing in particular. “It’s not your fault. I should not have loosened my grip.” She stroked the bark tenderly, and then it struck her how odd this scene must be – a young girl, sitting high up in a tree (where by rights it was generally considered a girl should not be), stroking the bark and talking to the tree as though it had a mind of its own. Thank goodness nobody is here, Morgan thought. Even though she did not usually care what others thought of her, she did not want to be reputed as a crackpot.
Even as she thought this, her keen ears picked up the sound of light footsteps on the dusty path below. Ducking swiftly behind a densely leaf-populated branch, Morgan peered through a small gap in the greenery.
She slowed her breathing as the stranger approached. What if it was her father? Yet it did not seem to be so. Whoever it was, they were travelling swift and light, making hardly a footfall. Soon the walker strolled into view, and Morgan almost laughed when she saw who it was.
Argo’s face was smeared with a thick white paste – a mixture of flour and water – and his baggy clothing was hardly recognisable under a caked layer of mud. Morgan wondered fleetingly what on Earth he could possibly have done to himself. The matter became more serious, however, when he veered over to the side of the road and began fingering the trunk of Morgan’s tree for handholds.
Morgan thought quickly. She would never allow him to discover her up there – she had never revealed her hiding place to any but her parents, and even then not willingly. She was certainly not going to reveal it to a filthy baker’s boy who thought girls were useless.
Morgan watched as Argo found a ledge near his left eye – the one Morgan always used, but had thought was well hidden – and began to haul himself up. His lanky limbs made him look rather like a spider, and despite the grave situation Morgan almost laughed.
She watched more intently as he became stuck halfway up the trunk. He did not know about the secret little knob that sat almost directly beside his right elbow. That would allow him to propel himself far enough up the trunk to grasp the lowest branch, and once he had reached that the going would become much easier. But as it was, Argo did not find the knob, and Morgan was greatly relieved.
Until he jumped.
The move was so unexpected Morgan almost cried out. Argo’s long limbs flailed wildly in the air, and his eyes opened wide. Luckily for him, one of his spidery arms caught on the lowest branch, and he hung there helplessly, saved from a nasty drop.
Now Morgan was in serious trouble. She would not allow him to make it all the way up. She could not. As he recovered his footing and his balance and started to climb steadily further up, Morgan tried to think. If she could just find a way to frighten Argo …
Too late. With a final effort, Argo hauled himself onto the last thick branch and flung himself onto the platform. Sitting up, he looked around, obviously extremely pleased with himself. “Bet no-one’s ever managed to get up here before,” he muttered to himself. He was so pleased with his prodigious talent that he stood up, swaggered to the edge of the platform, swayed and almost fell off. Catching himself, he glanced hastily around and, certain that no-one had witnessed his unfortunate slip, relaxed back into his cocky grin and leaned casually against a leafy branch. “Argo the Great,” he grunted. “King of the Trees.” After a while he noticed that the branch had eyes. Moreover, he realised that the eyes were staring at him. 
Staggering back, Argo managed to almost fall off again, flailing his long arms like windmills. Again he caught himself, and blinked rapidly. Staring hard at the spot, he rubbed his eyelids and squinted. Were there really eyes there? Or was it some trick of the flour in his eyelashes?
Tiptoeing cautiously forward, he raised his hand, hesitated, and then waved it in front of the eyes. They did not blink, or move. It seemed that they were frozen. He sidled slowly two feet to the right, and peered at the branch from a different angle. The eyes were still there. Then, glancing furtively over his shoulder, Argo cupped his hands around his flour-covered mouth and whispered hoarsely.
“Hello?”
Still the eyes did not move.
“Who – what are you?”
The eyes blinked, and it seemed to Argo that he could catch a hint of amusement in them. “All right,” he huffed. “Laugh. But There’s nothing funny about my thinking of you as a thing. What else could you possibly be?”     
No answer.
“Fine,” said Argo dismissively. “Ignore me. I don’t care. I’m just a useless, skinny idiot, is that right?”
A gravelly voice issued from between the leaves. “You dare speak to a tree Sprite in such a manner?”
Argo froze. “A tree Sprite,” he whispered in wonder. “Wow. I knew you were something.” Kneeling down before the branch, Argo hailed the eyes. “O wise and mighty Sprite, pray tell your servant what he must do to repent of his actions.”

Morgan was greatly enjoying herself. She watched with pent up hilarity as the skinny baker’s boy bowed down before her, his mud-caked hair almost tickling her toes as his head sunk to the ground.
Striving valiantly to control her voice, Morgan spoke again. “Most unworthy one,” she began, in a voice she hoped boomed like thunder, “you have crossed the boundaries of the paths of mortals!”
Argo shivered, but said nothing.
“You have entered, unwittingly or no, into realms dominated by a power your simple mind cannot hope ever to imagine, let alone comprehend. You have walked by your own will into a land of great beauty and majesty, of evil and danger.” Morgan paused, giving Argo time to absorb her lies. Then she said, with great relish, “And you are not fit to be here.”
Argo looked up. “So … if I just … go …”
“Oh, I am afraid you cannot do that.”
Argo faltered. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“You have crossed into the boundaries of a forbidden land. Mortals are not permitted to come here. The Book of the Ancients leaves nothing out. Trespassers must die!” Morgan spat the last word at Argo so that he flinched and cowered against the wood of the tree.
“Please! Please, I beseech you. I am but a poor farmers’ boy, uneducated and disturbed. My mother, she died when I was but a babe, and then my father sold me to a slave-dealer without a second thought. I have been brought up under the whip and the cruel hand of starvation. My master beats me thrice daily, once before breakfast, once at lunchtime and once before bed, and then he sends me to sleep with the pigs. He gives me but a dry crust and a drop of water once a day, and then he sends me off to the market carrying a ton of melons on my back, which he expects me to sell, and I have to crack them open with my head. Please, don’t kill me! I’m poor, very poor, and starving, and I was running away, and– ’’
“Shut your snivelling mouth, human. You will take your punishment as it is delivered. None escape the wrath of the terrible Sprite of the Elnari tree!” The eyes narrowed to hungry slits, and Morgan made a horrible gurgling sound in her throat.
“Don’t kill me!” Argo backed off in horror.
“I am hungry,” rasped Morgan. “I have not tasted Man-flesh in a thousand years …”
“Please, don’t eat me!” Argo’s voice came out as a petrified squeak. “I’m no good to eat … look, look at me! I’m all skin and bones.” He stretched the skin on his arm as a demonstration.
The eyes seemed thoughtful for a moment. Then Morgan let out a disappointed sigh. “Count yourself lucky I do not eat bones. Now, get out of my sight before I send for a Sprite who does!”
Argo needed no second bidding. Bounding to the edge of the platform, he scampered down as lithely as any squirrel, and with twice the speed of one. He did not halt at the bottom, but stumbled off along the road as fast as his considerable legs could carry him. He did not look back.
Morgan watched after him, a broad smile lingering upon her features. What an idiot. What a poor, poor idiot.

*

By the same time the day after, nothing had yet been heard of the whereabouts of Morgan’s mother. The case was brought to the town Mayor, who held a conference with all those involved underneath the bright gilded Bell that had long been the emblem of Charicadd Town. The Bell hung fifty feet high, proud and majestic in the bell tower of Charicadd Square. Many things it had seen since it had first been gifted to the town in honour of Sir Eujiin the Great, the founder of the town and one of the greatest warriors in history. The square had been built in his time, and the bell tower erected in honour of his death.
Now the present Mayor, Albert Farth (after the Farths who had originally governed the town) sat solemnly in its imposing shadow, at the head of a long table with very few seats, and even fewer occupants. The baker, Mister Oldman, sat gingerly at the opposite end of the table, fidgeting with his hat, his face even whiter than usual underneath the normal inch-thick layer of flour. On the left side of the table sat two sullen men whom Morgan did not recognize, each with a matching dour expression of boredom and glowering resentment on their features.
Opposite them sat a ruddy-faced, irritable man who was sweating and clutching tightly to the collar of a very dusty-faced boy, whose murderous expression matched those of the two surly men facing him.

Morgan scanned the faces of those surrounding her as she and her father took their places next to each other, nearest the Mayor. Mister Farth wore a very somber expression – he obviously thought that the way to make a good impression was to treat the matter very seriously. That idea was all right in itself, but the problem was that he would not stop with the formalities.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he began, his lips hardly moving a millimetre apart with each syllable.
“And lady,” interrupted Morgan, ever wanting to be acknowledged.
“And lady,” repeated the Mayor with a small frown. “Th’art gathered here today before the Bell for a very serious reason. There will be no interruptions – ’’ here he looked pointedly at Morgan, “ – no unnecessary chatter and no childish assumptions or accusations whilst I still sit before thee as Mayor.” Farth glared threateningly at each one of them in turn. The dusty-faced boy looked away, but Morgan glared defiantly back at him.
“Now, the matter which I bring before thee today is of the utmost importance. A great deal of mystery is involved,  and a great deal of danger also, if I am not much mistaken. Tears have been shed over this incident, and much grief has been endured – indeed, much grief taken – over the solving of this most intriguing and chilling case, which I now put before thee, you being possible witnesses, informants, suspects or people the matter has affected directly.” As he said the word ‘suspects’ his glance rested momentarily on the two shifty-looking characters to his left.
“As the Mayor of this town, and crowning Judge of the Board of Justices, I now present to thee this most mysterious case, of which we have yet to find a lead of any sort. That is my intent today.
“The case stands as follows: At some unknown time of the night before dawn, unbeknownst to anyone, unchecked and un-followed, Katrina Ralphwood, from a shack on Old Dirt Lane, went missing from her home – without a trace.” Mayor Farth looked around proudly, obviously expecting an impressive reaction of some sort. When none came, he cleared his throat and continued. “There has been no further news of her whereabouts, and none seem to have seen her since the night before her disappearance. Can any one of you here today shed light on this hitherto shadowy mystery?”
Morgan glanced around the faces of those surrounding her. None seemed willing to talk. She decided that it could not hurt to tell the Mayor what she knew and guessed. Without bothering to raise a hand, without even a half-polite ‘may I?’, Morgan spoke.
“I know a little,” she said.
The Mayor turned his head sharply to look at her. “And what might thou know of this matter, my twice-rebuked young lady?”
Morgan scowled. ‘Much more than you think,” she retorted. “Firstly, I was the last one to see her before she went missing. I came into her room at night or speak with her, and she was awake, although I did not think so at first. The subject of which we spoke is my second piece of information, and the most vital. I think – I am sure – that I know why she went and … who she was following.”
The Mayor sat up straighter. This was going to be interesting. “Carry on, my dear lady,” he said. “We are all listening to thee. Thy tale had better be worth the telling.”
“Firstly,” began Morgan, “I saw her – kidnappers. Yes,” she said, as her father looked up, “I saw them, and I shall call them kidnappers. They … they were not – human. They were not members of any species I have ever heard of or seen. I saw them when I was climbing a tree. They were hunched, so that they seemed as children, and they wore black cloaks that seemed more part of their bodies than clothing. Their heads were hooded, if hoods they were, and there were three of them. The oddest thing, however, was their voices. They were humming, and from a distance the sound was oddly soothing. But – ’’ Morgan stopped herself. How was she to explain to them that the tree had given her its gift of tongues? It would sound ridiculous, surely. “But close up I heard what they were really saying,” she said instead.
“And what were they saying?” The Mayor was genuinely interested. Perhaps, for once in his life, he would have a mystery that was worth solving.
“Well, it was more like chanting, actually. They were chanting, and the words … the words weren’t nice,” she finished lamely.
“But what were the words? Prithee, tell us.”
“Something about woe, and foes, and voices sweet, and then something about stinking hearts. Then they said ‘from Evil’s hand, far from his land’, and that really scared me. But I went on listening, and they chanted of candles calling and strong men falling. And then there was another verse, and it went on about hell, and something about a golden bell, and again it mentioned the lights – and I cannot remember some of it, even though I wrote it down, but I do remember that they spoke of an intent to kill … that somebody was controlling them … and then they said something I don’t get. ‘Condemned to life, held by a knife.’ And to my mind that did not make sense at all. I thought, who on Earth is controlled by a knife? And then suddenly the noise stopped, and I went back … back home. To warn my family. But my mother had gone out looking for me.”
The Mayor was looking excited. “Th’art a truthful one, young Miss. But tell me, does this mean your mother went missing in daylight after all?”
“No, no,” said Morgan. “Well – yes, actually, after a fashion. But I found her again. You see, I went out looking for her, in fear of the three little black figures, and I climbed my tree. I saw lights in the distance – down below in the forest. And then I shouted, and the lights went out. Then a great wind stirred up the treetops, and I fell out of the tree. Next thing I knew, my mother was bending over me.”
“So,” said Farth, “she was in the woods after all!”
“Well, yes. I guess so. At least … that’s really what I came in to ask her about, the night she disappeared. And she said that …” Morgan blushed. This was going to sound incredibly stupid. “She said that one moment she had been on the road looking for me, and the next she found herself in the middle of the forest, in a storm of smoke. Then she found her footsteps and followed them back to me. At least that is what she told me.”
“But, young Miss, your mother’s story has a loophole! Thou, no doubt, hast guessed it not, but I, after much careful consideration of thy story, have found it.”
“Actually,” said Morgan, “I found the loophole as soon as she told the story to me – if loophole it is, as she freely told me of her confusion when she found the footsteps.”
“Then no doubt thou canst tell me what it is?”
“The windstorm would have blown the footsteps away,” said Morgan simply. “What do you make of this new puzzle, Mayor?”
There was silence for a moment. Then – “Bonkers.”
All heads turned to the scowling face of the dusty boy. “Bonkers,” he repeated. “The lot of you. You actually believe her? She’s crazy, I tell you, and a witch too. Her and her crackpot old mother. Chased me with a kitchen knife, she did once.”
Morgan scowled back at him. “Maybe there was good reason for that,” she muttered.
The boy ignored her. “From the moment I set eyes on her, I knew she was crazy. I mean, what kind of self-respecting girl challenges a mob of boys to a tournament?” He slapped himself on the forehead as soon as the last word had escaped his lips. Obviously he thought this too much of a revealing piece of information. Morgan now knew who he was. He was the impudent scroll-boy from her battle with poor Argo.
“So, floor-face,” said Morgan, “you’ve decided to plead your rights, have you? Is it not fair that a girl shoved you into the dust? Come to file a lawsuit, have you?”
“No,” spat the boy. If colour could have shown underneath the layer of dirt on his face his complexion would have been brick-red. “I came because Fart-face – ’’ here his father jabbed him sharply in the ribs with his elbow, “ – I mean, Mister Farth – I came because he seems to think I might have news of the disappearance of your crazy old witch of a mother!” he squealed as his father boxed his ears soundly.
“I didn’t mean it, honest, I only – ’’
“SILENCE IN THE COURT!” Mayor Farth looked about ready to explode. He had found the proceedings rather amusing until his name had come into it. “I will not tolerate this kind of impudent behaviour from respectable young adults such as yourselves. Be quiet!” He scanned the faces around him with a kind of furious indignation. “Now I will be hearing from Mister John Ralphwood, and not one of you will interrupt, on pain of – on pain of a very painful retribution. Do you understand me?” When nobody said anything, he turned to Morgan’s father. “Proceed.”
John’s face was the picture of hopelessness. “I know nothing,” he said. “There as night fell, and when dawn broke … gone. I neither heard nor saw anything of her departure.”
“This leads us to believe that she left in a very quiet manner, does it not?” Mayor Farth was watching John’s face intently.
“Yes,” said John miserably. “Which makes me inclined to believe that Katrina left of her own free will. But why?”
“That is exactly what we are here to find out,” said Farth. “And we have before us here two possible witnesses. Their stories are intriguing, certainly, but I would like each one of thee to think over them carefully. Mister Oldman, please proceed.”
The baker fidgeted even more urgently with his hat. “Well … I don’t know much and – and it is quite likely that my information is of no importance …”
“It does not matter. Relate thy tale speedily or I may lose my patience.”
“Well … as I say, I don’t know much …” catching the Mayor’s glance, he blanched. “But I will tell you what I can. It was night, black night, and I was out looking for my cat, which had disappeared. I was walking down the road, calling softly, and I had just reached the Charicadd Town junction when I heard a sort of – a sort of rustling in the bushes. Not much, but I listened, and it was certainly there. I thought it was Chippers – ’’
“What?”
“My cat. I thought it was Chippers, so I started to creep closer, calling to him. Then I heard a sort of zipping noise past my left ear, and I thought it was a bat, so I shrieked and struck out, but nothing was there.  I kept walking towards the bushes, but when I got quite near …” he looked around apologetically. “I know it sounds rather childish, but my sixth sense has always been for danger, so I turned and ran. I tripped over a sharp, long thing in the ground – and I picked it up. I could not tell exactly what it was, but I thought it was a dart of some sort. I tucked it into my pocket and kept running. I reached the square and I ran into Mr. Teagle, right at the foot of this bell tower. He had obviously been running. I asked him what he was doing, and I said that I had been out looking for my cat. He looked puzzled, and said that he’d heard a scream. That would have been me, I said, and I told him what happened. I showed him the dart, and he was very interested. I first met him when we were both the King’s men, and he was a bit of an expert in that area. So I lent him the dart for him to study, to see if he could pick up any leads, and we both went back inside.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, yes … strictly speaking. Only – I didn’t find Chippers.”
“What a shame. This is very interesting news, to be sure. Mr. Oldman – do you have any idea where Teagle is now? I would like to see that dart.”
“Why, I’m afraid Mr. Teagle was out this morning. Had a sign stuck up on the side of his house – ‘Gone for the day’, it said. Said he had some business with a wine merchant way out in East Bridge town. He’ll be back tomorrow, though.”
“What a shame. We shall come back to this matter in due course.” Farth looked genuinely disappointed. “But whilst we still have young Master Peg with us, I think we should consult him. What have you to say, young man?”
The dusty-faced scroll-boy, or Peg, had a sour expression on his face. “Don’t know nothing,” he muttered. Wincing as his father raised his arm threateningly, he said, “I mean, of course I do. What on Earth did I say that for?” His father lowered his arm but kept it uncomfortably close to the side of Peg’s head.
“What doest thou know of this matter?”
“Not much. But a little,” he added hastily as his father’s arm muscles tensed. “Just that I saw Mrs. Ralphwood the day before she went missing. I was walking down the road and I saw her coming in my direction, from the direction of her house. I hid in the bushes, remembering her kitchen knife, and watched as she passed me. Then a little further on, I saw her stop, and she sort of relaxed and turned towards the trees. Then she went in, and that’s all I know. I suppose she was gathering herbs for a ghastly potion of some sort – ’’ his drawl halted abruptly and turned into a choked squeal as his father pulled his head towards him by the hair and whacked the sides of his head hard. Ruffled and disgruntled, Peg sat back in his seat, nursing his glowing ears.
“That is all thou knowst?” asked the Mayor, ignoring the subtle but frequent scenes of violence.
“Yes,” mumbled Peg. “I didn’t see no more.”
“At what time approximately did this happen?”
“Late afternoon,” he said. “The sun was still up, but it was going down.”
“I see. And at what time, Mister baker, did you go out looking for thine cat?”
“About midnight, or a little before, sir.”
“And why were you out in the middle of the night looking for your cat?”
“Because it were missing, sir. My wife loves that cat, and I had to find it before daybreak, else she’d have my head, good and proper, all nicely arranged with celery on a silver platter. That she would have, mister Mayor. Or leastways she would, if she had a silver platter to arrange it on.”
“I see. And why were you, Master Peg, walking by thyself down a deserted road in the afternoon that day?”
“My father had sent me, Fart-f – I mean, mister Mayor, sir. He’d sent me to go down to North Bridge town to sell some stuff – ’’ here his father blanched and gave his son a savage jab in the ribs that brought tears to his eyes.
“What ‘stuff’?” The Mayor looked up eagerly.
“Nothing,” interrupted Peg’s father. His voice was low and gravelly. “Pegasus was jesting, weren’t you, boy?” he gave his son a slight pinch beneath the table.
The boy was burning with shame at being called by his full name, but he obeyed his father. “Yes,” he choked. “Yes, I was being stupid. Stupid Peg, his tongue slipped, ha ha ha …”
“Thou canst not hope to fool me, boy,” said Farth. “What were you selling?”
Peg looked beseechingly up at his father, but his father was staring straight ahead. “I was sent to sell … to sell … wine,” he said lamely. “I was going to sell wine. My father promised a keg of his finest to a merchant there, but he did not want to tell you because … because it was the same keg he promised you last year. Do you not remember?”
Farth did not remember, but he did not want to seem forgetful either. “Of course I remember,” he said, “but I will let thee off this time, on the condition that you give me thy second best keg as soon as it is available.”
Pegasus’ father looked ready to do murder, but he nodded stiffly and twitched the corners of his mouth into a grimace that might have been intended to be a smile. “As you wish, sir.”
“Good. Now, young Peg … did you reach your destination?”
“Yes. The sale was completed properly and on time.”
“Now, could you possibly tell me – who was this wine merchant you speak of?”
Peg’s breath caught in his throat and his father blanched. “We do not know his name,” said his father hurriedly. “And he does not know ours. He is merely a merchant living in North Bridge town. And he told us he is not to be staying for much longer. That is why we sold the keg in such a hurry. We wouldn’t miss the chance – he gave good money.”
“Where did this merchant live?”
“We – we do not know. He met us on the outskirts of the town. He told us nothing. He left as soon as he had the keg.”
The Mayor looked disappointed. Obviously he had thought he was on to something. “Very well,” he sighed. “I suppose we are on to our suspect interrogation.” He turned his sharp gaze onto the two dubious characters on his left. “Well?” he said. “What do you have to say for yourselves? Why are you here?”
One of the men, a scruffy tramp with sunken, rat-like features, glanced around at the company with the look of a mouse caught in a trap. The other, however, returned the Mayor’s stare. His eyes were bright blue and he wore a large black travelling cloak. It was he who spoke.
“Have we not been called?” his voice was strong and firm, but had a slightly mocking tone to it. “Have we not been summoned to attend this court of high personages – elders of a Board of Judges? Was it not you who bid us attend? If so, tell us why we are here. If not, I must plead for your leader to step forth.”
Mayor Farth was taken aback. “What leads you to think I did not summon thee? I bid thee attend, and attend you did, though choice was not on your side, so to speak. Tell me why you think I summoned you here.”
The rat-faced man spoke this time. His voice was high-pitched and wheezy, as though he found it hard to breathe. “O kind sir,” he started. His companion glared at him in disgust at his sniveling habits. “Kind and mighty Lord, I beg for thy pardon. We are but humble travelers, weary and starving. We long for but a drop of water, a smidgeon of food from thy rich table – ’’
“Shut your snivelling trap, Argeus.” It was the blue-eyed man. “If you plan to speak, I suggest you stitch up your forked tongue before you open your mouth.” Looking to Farth, he spoke again to him. “Listen not to him,” he said. “Naught escapes his lips save lies and honey-coated barbs. I am Magéus, and I am from the South. We are merely travellers – in that at least my friend here spoke truthfully. We have come on one of our many ventures, and our wanderings have brought us by pure chance into these regions of the West. We have done nothing to offend any law we know of, but I can guess why you suspect us of kidnapping this lady. We are strangers, with a shifty look about us, and we are tall and have cloaks. Typical description of two men up to no good. However, I can safely promise you that if I mean harm to any in the world, the few are far from here in terms of distance and of character, and you are much safer at the moment than those few, even as you sit here gravely, deep in the folds of a dark mystery.” The mocking tone returned in strength as he said the last two statements. His eyes twinkled with the lingering traces of wry humour that none sitting in his presence could quite place. He stared, steadfast, into the eyes of Mayor Farth, who soon looked away, unnerved.
“Very well,” stammered Farth, “I accept your explanation.” Then his strong tone returned. “But not his.” Argeus’ eyes widened and he stared pleadingly at his companion. Magéus ignored him. His face remained expressionless. Farth spoke again. “He has a shifty look about him, and you yourself said he was a liar and a snivelling worm. I do not like his looks!”
“Calm yourself, Mayor.” Magéus’ voice was lazy, and the spark of humour had not left his eyes. “He is with me. If he stays, I stay. And I do not think you want that, do you, sir?” A dangerous glint shone alongside the humorous twinkle in his eyes.
Farth’s hands were shaking as he covered his mouth and cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said, for the third time that day. “He may go with thee. But keep in mind – do not trust him. I catch a traitorous gleam in his eyes!”
“I am already much aware of that,” growled Magéus. Farth closed his mouth abruptly.
“You may go. And go swiftly – do not tarry on the road.” As the two men rose and walked away, his eyes remained fixed on the back of Argeus’ head, and when the man risked a quick glance behind him he caught the Mayor’s shrewd eyes boring into his skull. Hastily he looked back and quickened his pace.
Farth cleared his throat again and looked back at his company. “Shall we continue?”
John, however, had been watching the men closely throughout their rather one-sided conversation, and now he pushed back his chair and hurriedly excused himself. “No, Mister Farth, sir. I think it can wait until tomorrow. Case closed?” And without waiting for an answer, he swept off after the travellers.
Farth glanced around, perplexed. “Well,” he said, “case closed. We shall meet here again tomorrow, I think. Good day to you.” With that he donned his peacock-feather hat and strode off briskly in the direction of his office, at the foot of the bell tower.
Mr. Oldman rose and walked away slowly, as Peg’s father hauled him roughly upright by the collar and started dragging him away from the table. Morgan stared thoughtfully after them for a moment, before rising herself and striding back down the road.
She reached her house at around three o’clock, and immediately she knew her father was not there. She had suspected that he wouldn’t be, but it still disappointed her. His business with the two travellers could not be as important as his daughter, could it? Sighing, Morgan sat down to await his return.









Chapter Three: The Secret Life of Pegasus

By early evening, John still had not returned. Morgan set about cooking dinner, with the little expertise she had. Rummaging through the many store-cupboards in their kitchen, Morgan found a large cooking pot and tossed in everything she could find. A few tomatoes, a leg of salted pork, several sticks of celery, eight potatoes and a carrot – all went in the pot, without so much as a sniff or a ceremonious preparation. Morgan peered over the rim of the pot and eyed her work. It was missing something. It took her a while to realise that there was no water. Never one to hesitate, she fetched a bucket from her father’s carpentry shed and set off down the road.
It did not take her long to reach the old well, and after filling the wooden bucket to the brim she started to lug it off back home. It took her much longer this time, and half of it was spilled on the road and over her dress. But Morgan did not let the fact dishearten her, and, reaching the house, she tipped the whole thing into the pot.
Morgan then fetched a stack of wood from her father’s shed and arranged the pieces neatly in her crumbling little fireplace. She then lugged the heavy pot off the kitchen bench (the weight of it almost forced her to her knees) and with a final Herculean effort, hitched it onto the rusted iron hook that nestled in the ceiling of the hearth. Dusting her hands smartly on her sopping and soot-covered tunic, Morgan came to the most difficult task yet: lighting the fire.
Matches would have been a great help in this situation, but Morgan had none, and she had no idea where her father kept his flint and steel. Before she began looking for them, however, she left the house and started foraging for bracken and dry leaves and twigs to help get the fire started. She did not know much about fire-building, but that much she did know.
Re-entering the house, she piled the lot on top of her pyramid of wood and began looking for her father’s flint and steel. It turned out that they were not to hard to find – they were lain in a handy position on a low shelf in her father’s woodshed. Morgan carried them triumphantly back into the kitchen and set about making them work.
It was much harder than she had anticipated. For the first thirty minutes or so, she had trouble even making a tiny spark, let alone a proper flame.
Morgan had been labouring away at this work for at least three hours before her father returned. He looked very tired, and more worried than when she had last seen him, but he was at least home, and looking oddly satisfied. After offering his daughter a hug and a warm smile, he gently took his tools from her and, to Morgan’s complete astonishment and indignation, he had a fire going in less than a minute.

It took a long time for their dinner to boil, but when it did it was surprisingly good.
“Morgan,” said her father in amazement when he tasted it, “how did you make this? It is very good.”
Morgan shrugged modestly and blew softly on her helping, willing it to cool down. “I just put in everything I could find.”
John shot an alarmed look at her. “Everything?” he asked. Morgan nodded. “Even – God forbid – even my year’s worth salted pork?”
Morgan experienced a horrible sinking feeling. She did not want to lie, but she did not tell the complete truth either. “I don’t know, Father,” she said, not looking at him. “As I said, I just put in everything I could find.”
John sighed. “Oh, Morgan.” He looked down at his soup regretfully for a moment, and then continued gulping it down. “Well, whether or not you put in my pork or not, this is good enough to warrant forgiveness.”
Morgan grinned.

The morning dawned bright and cheery, and Morgan awoke feeling very well-rested. Treading quietly through the house, she entered the dining room and immediately saw the crumpled little note on the low wooden table. With a growing feeling of dread, Morgan advanced towards it and scooped it up. What did she expect to read? Dear Morgan, I have left you forever? Morgan, I have left with the two dark travellers?
But the real letter said nothing like it. Morgan had to squint to read her father’s cramped, hurried handwriting, but the message was quite clear.

Dearest Morgan
I will be away for the day. I have an arranged meeting with some friends who live by East Bridge, and we are to be dealing for the whole day. I will return late at night.
I have left you some money if you need to buy anything, and there are a few vegetables and pieces of meat and bread that you can use.
With my fondest love, and hoping that you do not get yourself into any kind of trouble,
Father

Morgan sighed, and crumpled the little piece of piece of paper into a ball in the palm of her hand. She believed that her father would keep to his word – that he would return late at night – but she did wish that he might stay at home. She did not like being left alone for the period of a whole day. It was not because she was scared, but rather because it left her with an empty sensation in her chest – she thought it was called loneliness. And now her very own father was leaving her, to deal with a couple of carpenters over by East Bridge. Such a long way away. She was not likely to see him again until early morning the next day.
Morgan’s attitude brightened considerably when she realized that she had the whole day to herself. Smiling, she scampered out of the kitchen and down the road, her bad mood completely obliterated for the time being.
She halted, thinking, at the Charicadd Town junction. Elnari tree, or town square?
It turned out that her decision was made for her. At that moment she heard footsteps approaching, and scrambled up her tree as fast as she could go. After the kidnapping of her mother, Morgan had resolved to be much more cautious.
Soon she spotted the feet that had been making the footfalls, and more importantly, she saw the person.
Pegasus the scroll boy was ambling down the road, burdened by a heavy pack he bore upon his hunched back. Despite the apparent weight, he seemed in quite good spirits. He was singing, but Morgan had to strain her ears to hear him.

“O! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
A pirate’s life for me.”

He was not a great singer, but the words were unmistakable. Morgan stifled her laughter with a fist and watched Peg’s figure receding into the distance, his atrocious voice fading as he went.
Morgan waited a while before starting to climb down again. As she had nothing better to do, she had decided to follow him. In her haste, however, she had not heard the other set of footsteps, and Argo was beneath her before she had a chance to hide herself. He was puffing and out of breath. Halting for a moment as he regained his breath, he happened to look up and find that he was underneath the very tree he had climbed the other day. Before he had a chance to run off in terror, however, he happened to glance a little further up, and there his eyes froze. Right there, exactly where he had been, was the impudent little girl from Old Dirt Lane. Transfixed, the two of them stared horrified into each other’s eyes, each appalled at the other’s position, though each for very different reasons.
Morgan was wishing to the heavens that Argo was standing anywhere else in the world – anywhere but here, standing beneath her, discovering her long kept, deep secret – the Elnari tree.
Argo was, firstly, indignant that this puny midget was standing with such ease where he had had such trouble the other day. Secondly, he was horrified. No matter what this girl had done to him, he did not want her to be eaten alive by the malicious tree Sprite that lived in the tree. She did not even seem to know her peril.
Finding his voice, Argo shouted urgently up at her. “Get down! Get down! You don’t know how much danger you’re in!”
Shaking herself out of her horrified trance, Morgan glanced around her. Seeing no enemies, she stared quizzically at the boy. “What danger?”
“Just trust me! Get down. Please.” Argo seemed to be in earnest.
Morgan still looked incredulous. “Not until you tell me my danger.”
Argo blushed. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Why would I …” Morgan started, and then stopped dead. She knew what he was talking about – and it almost made her burst with laughter. “Oh,” she said aloud. “I know what you are talking about.” She touched her index finger to the side of her nose knowingly.
“No!” shouted Argo, “No! You don’t know! You are really in a dangerous situation. Come down!”
Morgan smiled at him with an annoyingly smug expression. In his terror, Argo thought he heard a rustling behind her in the tree, and with a cry, he sank to his knees and covered his eyes. This was the end. She was done for. He waited for the malicious laughter of the Sprite, the poor girl’s scream …
When no noise came, he looked up warily, trembling. Morgan stood where she had been standing before, pretending not to have noticed him at all, picking her nails casually.
Argo felt his ears go red. “What?” he said fiercely, trying to cover up his embarrassment.
Morgan looked at him suddenly, as if only just noticing his presence. She smirked. “Your face. Honestly, what are you on about? The Sprite will only attack if she doesn’t like you. Otherwise, you’re dead. Unless, of course, you don’t have enough meat on you.” She eyed Argo sceptically. “In which case, I suppose you would be safe.” She grinned as Argo blushed deeper still. “But I’ve noticed something. I’ve noticed that she has a taste for boys. I’ve seen many more boys consumed by her fiery wrath that I’ve seen girls.”
Argo’s expression was horrified. “You’ve actually seen …?”
“Of course I have. WHAT DO YOU THINK, DIMWIT?” 
The sudden outburst startled Argo, and he jumped visibly.
Morgan went back to picking her nails. “Of course I haven’t. There is no Sprite, you idiot. I can’t believe I fooled you.” Seeing Argo’s uncomprehending face, she smiled. “Sprite, huh? What a joke.”
“But there was one. I saw it. It almost ate me.”
“But, let me guess – it didn’t, because you convinced it that you were just skin and bones.”
Argo blushed and threw her a peculiar look. “Yes,” he admitted. “How do you know?”
“Because I was the Sprite, you dummy. I wanted to scare you off because – because I did not want to have to say sorry for beating you.”
Argo looked furious. “But – that – you’re so bizarre …”
“Thank you. I accept the compliment.”
“No, I mean … you didn’t want to have to say sorry?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know how you would take it.”
“Well, now you do. Happy?” Argo set off down the road at a swift gait.
Morgan leaped from the platform without a second thought. “Argo, you complete git!”
Argo turned and strode back angrily. “You dare …?”
“Yes, I dare!” Morgan was only up to about his shoulder, but she did not back down, nor wither under his intimidating glare. Eventually, Argo looked away and seemed to shrink a couple of inches. Without another word, he turned on his heel and set a fast pace down the road. Morgan followed without a word. Every so often Argo would look back over his shoulder hopefully, but all he ever saw was a very resolute little girl striving to keep up to his cracking pace.
After a while Morgan began to notice a soft sound floating through the air back at them. Argo kept up the pace but quieted his footsteps somewhat. Morgan could practically see his ears straining to catch the words of the song – as song it clearly was. Morgan had less trouble. Before long she could make it out with ease.

“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest …”