The Chimera's Curse Read online

  Coming straight from the confrontation in the library, it took Connie a while to relax. She hadn’t mentioned the scene to Mack or Simon, but after an hour she had begun to feel that here, at least, she was among people who liked her and did not fear her. Still, she felt too ashamed to admit to anyone that the Trustees had banned her from the reading room.

  “Cake! Cake! Cake!” chanted Ahmed and Omar, Mrs. Khalid’s sons.

  There was a burst of applause as Mrs. Khalid emerged from the kitchen bearing a three-tiered cake aloft in triumph.

  “Where are the candles?” called out Antonia Little from the corner next to Connie.

  “Aha!” said Mrs. Khalid, producing eight big candles from the inside of her robes like a magician pulling rabbits from a top hat.

  “They’re too big to go on the cake,” Antonia said to Connie.

  “I don’t think they’re for the cake,” Connie replied with a smile.

  Mrs. Khalid placed her creation in the center of the dining room table and then stuck the candles in eight holders around it.

  “Omar, are you ready?” she asked her elder son, a tall, handsome boy with long black hair. He nodded.

  “Lee-am, are you ready?” she said, turning to the pink-faced birthday boy.

  “Yes!” he replied.

  Mrs. Khalid took a taper and lit each candle, hissing under her breath. “Let game begin!” she said, stepping back.

  Liam stood on a stool and cupped his hands around the first candle, a look of concentration on his face. When he took his hands away, Connie could see there was now a little fire imp dancing there. He swiftly moved around the table, summoning an imp to dance in each of the eight flames.

  “Omar.” Mrs. Khalid nodded to her son.

  Omar stepped forward, flicking back his floppy fringe of dark hair. He hollowed his hands around his mouth and blew as if on an invisible horn. Connie sensed a rushing and tingling in the room. She looked up and saw the pale outline of a sylph burst into the room and circle overhead like a wheeling bird. Its body formed of nothing more than air, the wind sprite shimmered against the ceiling, its long hair rippling out behind it. Ragged wings streamed like a tattered pennant in its wake.

  Connie nudged Antonia. “Up there,” she said. Antonia looked up but could not spot it. “Look for the ripples as it passes in front of something.”

  “Ah, yes. I see it now!” said Antonia, catching a glimpse of long legs brushing past the curtains.

  The sylph darted down to the candles and blew hard at the first one Liam had lit. Connie could see the imp struggling in the wind, shaking its fist furiously at the sylph, red sparks shooting ineffectually against its enemy. In a blink of an eye, the fire imp puffed out of sight: its flame extinguished.

  “No, I put out the candles, not you!” Liam was calling. The sylph, however, was too much for one boy to cope with and had extinguished half the candles by the time Liam had rekindled two. “Connie! Help!” he appealed to the universal to come to his rescue.

  “Go on, Connie!” said Antonia, pushing her up. “You’re needed.”

  With a grin, Connie waited for the sylph to fly near her. As it passed, she caught a puff of wind and stored it in her quiver. As the sylph dipped to the cake, Connie released her arrow. The sprite was blown off course to become entangled with the curtains. The audience cheered. The delay gave Liam enough time to relight his last candle.

  “I win!” he shouted exultantly.

  “You win,” conceded Omar, ruffling Liam’s hair with brotherly affection.

  The companion to the sylphs then strode up to Connie to congratulate her. He gave her a playful bow. “Victory is yours, Universal. How did you do it?”

  “Thanks. It was an arrow from the universal’s quiver,” she explained. He raised one black eyebrow quizzically. “A mental tool. I’ve been practicing it recently. You catch some power and throw it back.”

  “Let’s sing so the birthday boy can blow out his candles,” roared Mack over the noise of the crowd.

  When “Happy Birthday” had faded unmelodiously away, Liam stood on a stool, snapped his fingers, and instantly all the imps disappeared, taking the flames with them.

  “No need for wind as a fire imp companion,” he said proudly.

  Mrs. Khalid applauded him enthusiastically from the kitchen door. “Well done, Lee-am,” she called.

  After slicing the cake into huge uneven slabs, Liam pushed his way through his guests to present Connie with the first slice.

  “Here you are!” he said, thrusting it at her. “Thanks for your help just now.”

  “Any time,” she said, licking the icing off her fingers. “I see your training is going well.”

  “It’s fantastic. Mamma Khalid says we can meet some of the big ones in spring. She wondered if we could come down your way to do it. Not enough space in her back garden, she says.”

  “Of course. I’m sure Col and his grandmother can put you up,” Connie replied.

  Simon came over. “Well done, Liam. Those fire imps were cool.”

  Liam glowed under the praise. “How’s the Athenian lion-goat-snake thing?” he asked.

  “Nemean lion,” Simon corrected him. “Very interesting. The Trustees think I might be ready to encounter the chimera soon. Can’t keep Connie shut up in Hescombe much longer, can we?”

  Liam looked up at Connie, who had turned very pale. “They’ve shut you up?”

  “Not exactly. I’m not allowed out on the moor,” she explained. That familiar feeling of sick dread had returned. She looked at Simon’s happy face and wondered how he could be so blasé about the prospect of encountering the chimera. But then, he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for?

  “What’ve you done wrong?” Liam asked.

  “Nothing,” said Simon, “there’s just this great, dirty brute out there that wants to eat her.”

  Liam looked shocked. “Do you want me to set a fire imp on it for you, Connie?” he asked.

  “Thanks, Liam. But not this time,” Connie said. She had to change the subject before she fought with Simon again about what he was doing. “Here, we’ve got you a present.” She dug in her bag and handed him a box. “It’s from all of us in Hescombe.” Liam ripped off the top and took out a cell phone. “Pre-paid. Let us know when you need more minutes. Emergency calls are free, I believe, if you ever need the fire brigade,” she added.

  11

  Portcullis

  “I don’t think I can get any further without practicing,” said Connie to her mentor. “I now know what to do in theory, but I’ve got to try it out on someone.”

  “What about me, Universal?” suggested Gard, looking up from the notebook they had been studying together in the front parlor.

  There was every chance that on the first few attempts she would fail to drop the portcullis in time, and Connie knew she would very much prefer not to allow Gard through her defenses. He might stumble upon the armory she had been amassing in secret. In addition to the sword, shield, helm, and hauberk he knew about, she had added the quiver, bow and arrows, the lance, and most recently the mace—a crude tool she did not like using, but she had to admit it was effective in smashing through most barriers. If he saw those, he would know in an instant that she had not obeyed the Trustees in abandoning the idea of challenging Kullervo.

  “How about Sentinel?” she countered. “He’d like that.” She could trust the minotaur to guard the secrets of her mind labyrinth closer than she kept them herself.

  Gard nodded. “You are right. He would be a good subject for the test. Where is he now?”

  Connie dipped into her mind and sensed the minotaur concealed in a cave along the cliff not far from Number Five. This was his favored evening lookout post from where he could mount an effective watch over the universal. As the cave was so close to Hescombe, he had been disturbed on several occasions by unwary walkers on the beach but had so far managed to scare them away by bellowing and stamping. Locally, the cave had gained the reputation
of being haunted. The tourist information center had even produced a leaflet on the subject that Sentinel had proudly tacked to the wall of his chamber in the abandoned tin mine.

  “He’s close by. Shall we go to him?”

  “Yes. It would be good to get outdoors,” Gard agreed.

  Connie went first, checking that the coast was clear. The dark January evening had deterred most people from leaving their warm houses: Hescombe had a cozy, battened-down-for-the-night feel to it. Lights shone in the houses along the quayside. There was no one around to see the rock dwarf slip down onto the beach and crunch his way along to the cave with Connie at his side.

  “Sentinel?” Connie called into the chilly blackness of the cavern, a deep groove in the liver-red rock face where the sandstone had been worn away by the churning of the waves. After a few more decades of attack, the sea might well succeed in punching its way through to form an arch, but so far it had only hollowed out a small chamber—at low tide, a place of rock pools and slippery seaweed; at high tide, an ever-moving floor of foam. Fortunately, tonight the tide was out, though Connie knew the minotaur had spent many nights of devoted service standing up to his waist in the surge.

  “Universal,” answered the minotaur, emerging at the mouth of the cave. His tawny hide matched the color of the sandstone that surrounded him, acting as a further camouflage. He bowed low. “I am at your command.” He then turned to the rock dwarf. “Brother, you are welcome.”

  Gard returned the minotaur’s bow. “We have come to ask you to assist the universal with her training. She needs to practice a new defense called the portcullis. Will you help?”

  “Of course,” said Sentinel, gesturing to them to take seats on the fallen rocks that littered the entrance to his temporary abode. “What is this portcullis?”

  “It’s a way of trapping an enemy when he has penetrated your first line of defense,” explained Connie. “If I do it right, you should not be able to get beyond the entrance to my mind and be caught there until I release you.”

  Sentinel snorted, white plumes of hot breath puffing from his nostrils into the cold winter sky. “Trap me? You think you are strong enough to contain a minotaur?”

  Connie laughed. “I’ve no idea. That’s why I need to practice.”

  “We should begin,” said Gard. “The universal is cold.”

  It was true. Her feet were frozen. A flake of snow fluttered out of the cloudy sky and settled on her knee.

  “Okay. Are you ready, Sentinel?” asked Connie. The minotaur nodded. In unison, they closed their eyes to enter the shadow-world of the encounter.

  Connie had hardly a moment to gather her thoughts before Sentinel came charging up to the portal to her mind and burst through.

  “Not fair!” she exclaimed, breaking the encounter off quickly before he was able to enter too far into her thoughts. “You gave me no time!”

  Sentinel gave a bellow of laughter. “An enemy does not wait for his adversary to be ready, Universal. Try again.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. From the smug smile on his face, she guessed he had plenty more surprises in store.

  “Again,” she agreed.

  Closing her eyes, she rushed to be there first. On this occasion, the shadow-minotaur did not dash in; he stood waiting outside, pacing with his hands behind his back as if he had all the time in the world before making his move, his tail swishing lazily behind him. She knew what he was doing: he was waiting till she got bored or lost concentration. That would not do. She had a few tricks of her own up her sleeve that no one else knew about. It was time to play them.

  “Okay. Drawbridge,” she muttered. Mentally cranking on the winch that had appeared by the gate, she raised a heavy bridge out of the mists that surrounded the entrance, forcing the startled Sentinel farther in and cutting off his retreat. He made a dash for the gate. Connie had to abandon her drawbridge half-raised to cut the rope holding up the portcullis. It came crashing down, trapping Sentinel between the bridge and the strong lattice of the gate. The minotaur gave a bellow and charged back the way he had come, clambering nimbly up the sloping bridge and flinging himself over its lip to drop clear on the other side. Connie ended the encounter again.

  “That was an improvement, Universal. The drawbridge was a clever move, but you must be faster if you want to catch a minotaur,” Sentinel said, raising his curved horns proudly.

  “Drawbridge?” asked Gard curiously.

  “Er, just a little innovation of my own,” said Connie quickly. “The two parts of the portcullis are hard to drop fast enough to catch the attacker. Even with the bridge, I didn’t manage it.” She could feel Gard’s gaze on her, but she looked down at her feet, refusing to meet his eye.

  “One more attempt?” asked Sentinel, clearly relishing the challenge.

  Connie nodded.

  They were both ready swiftly this time. Sentinel had decided to play this one straight. He charged at the portal and crossed the threshold.

  Crash! Connie released the inner portcullis stopping any forward progress. Like lightning, Sentinel turned to retreat. Crash! The second gate clunked into place. She had trapped him. Undeterred, he threw himself at the gate to test its strength. It shivered, but held firm. He then charged the inner gate, horns lowered for maximum impact. The bull’s head collided with the bars and a dull clang echoed around the gateway, but the portcullis stood firm.

  Very good, Universal, the shadow-minotaur called out to his host. I let you catch me, of course, to see if I could break out.

  The gateway rumbled with teasing laughter. Sentinel rested against the iron-lattice, gazing in on the mindscape to which he had been barred entry.

  What are those? he asked, pointing to the weapons Connie now had ready by the entrance in case of need. She had forgotten they would be visible even from the gateway, arranged in rows so that she could seize them quickly if attacked. Dismayed, she ended the encounter.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Sentinel staring at her, his dark brown eyes reflecting the lights of Hescombe behind her. “What did I see?” he asked her.

  Connie felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her two companions. “That’s my business, Sentinel. Can I have no secrets?”

  He bowed. “I will keep your secrets, but will you not explain them even to me?”

  “What secrets?” asked Gard sharply.

  Sentinel said nothing, ignoring the dwarf. Connie shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Gard.”

  “But it is my duty to ask you,” Gard said, his fists clenched on his knees. She could tell he was angry with her and had guessed why she had chosen Sentinel to test her defenses rather than him.

  But it was too late to worry about his feelings. What about hers? Connie was sick of even her innermost thoughts being patrolled by the Society. Was nothing of hers private? If she could not call her mind her own, then she was nothing.

  “Is there a rule that says that the universals have no right to their own thoughts?” she asked.

  “No. But you know why I ask. If you will not tell me, I will have to ask our friend. Sentinel, did you see anything that suggests the universal is preparing to challenge Kullervo?”

  Sentinel reared backward in surprise. He had seen her armory, of course, but had not realized she was amassing it for so serious a purpose. Connie turned pleading eyes to Sentinel, willing him not to fail her.

  “I will not betray the secrets of the labyrinth,” he said finally but with evident reluctance.

  “So you did see something?” Gard persisted.

  “I say nothing.”

  Gard stood up. “Universal, this is most serious. After all our discussions, you know what will happen if I discover proof that you have gone against the will of the Trustees.”

  “You have no proof,” said Connie quietly, hating that she was setting herself against him in this way.

  “Then show me what the minotaur saw. Prove your innocence.”

  “My mind and my thoughts are my own. You have no
right to ask me that.”

  “I have no right but, out of friendship, I ask you to do this to put my mind at rest.”

  Connie got to her feet and turned to face the entrance. “Look, it’s beginning to snow. I’d better get back. Thank you for your help, Sentinel. Thank you, Gard.”

  Quickly, she left the shelter of the cave and ran home along the high-tide mark, the snow whirling around her like a swarm of white bees, melting as the flakes hit the salty pebbles. She felt terrible turning away from Gard like that, but his mind would not have been “put at rest,” as he called it, by an encounter with her. No one should see what Sentinel had glimpsed tonight. Her refusal to clear herself might well mean she would incur further penalties from the Trustees. If she let any creature encounter her, she might well end up in even hotter water. There was nothing else to do: she would have to keep to herself for a while and avoid all encounters.

  When she reached home, she clattered through the kitchen, barely acknowledging Evelyn’s and Mack’s greetings, shouting something about needing to change into dry clothes. In the sanctuary of her room, Connie stripped off her outer layers and dived under her duvet, only then feeling safe from intrusion. With her feet off the ground, Gard would not be able to follow her.

  Noticing that in her hurry she’d pushed her private notebook off the bed, Connie leaned over to pick it up. She had started keeping a second record of all the knowledge she was not supposed to have. It contained her practice records on the forbidden weapons, as well as the notes she had taken about Kullervo on her last visit to the universal’s reading room. She flicked through the pages to remind herself exactly why she was risking so much to follow this path—and to bolster her resolve that she should, against her natural inclination, disappoint so many friends. The book Mr. Dove had directed her to had confirmed her fears. She should not have been surprised to find that Reginald Cony had been the author—of course, he would want to pass on the lessons his contemporaries had learned at such a heavy cost. The manuscript was not complete—it was a sketchy history of what was known about the shape-shifter, including a list of the known forms he adopted. From her own experience, she could add a few more. Reading it through, she realized that Reginald had been waiting in hope of hearing of one that could be defeated—some weakness in Kullervo’s repertoire—but as far as Connie could see, all of them were equally formidable. Indeed, what Reginald had missed (he had never confronted Kullervo, Connie reminded herself) was that Kullervo’s real strength lay in his ability to shift between his forms. It was not a single shape that was strong, it was the sum of them.