The Amber Crown, page 3
The Adamantine Sea moved between worlds with a complex but predictable cycle. According to the Druid’s calculations, it was currently touching the port of Belhaven, on the wet and windy isle of Skarron. The world that the isle was found in was an old one, with hardly any modern gadgets and not much magic either.
“It’s rather like the sixteenth century was in this world,” said the Druid, unfolding one of the maps Sir Bedwyr had brought from the forest and spreading it over the kitchen table. “Sailing boats, long-distance trade in spices and silks. Horse-and-cart technology, but quite sophisticated even so.” He pointed at a small, crescent-shaped island in the centre of the map, marked with a few towns and one port – Belhaven. “The Adamantine Sea touches Skarron about once every two years. It gives the merchants a chance to sell their goods to other worlds, and get some precious off-world luxuries as well. It’s made Belhaven quite a thriving place.”
Jem was staring at the map, tracing the outlines of several other islands and a mainland area with several large cities. It was labelled The Divided Kingdom.
“Divided?” he said. “How can you have a divided kingdom?”
“Civil war, about a hundred years back,” said the Druid. “Nasty affair. Then they agreed to split, but both sides wanted the royal family. So they stayed one kingdom but the two halves are ruled by separate Grand Councils – made up of commoners in one half, and nobles in the other. The current king’s just a ceremonial head. No real power over either half.”
Inanna tossed her dark braids. “That is no way for a king to behave,” she said. “I would have died rather than be a mere puppet ruler.”
The Druid looked at her haughty expression and grinned. “I’m sure you would,” he said. “In fact, the old king agreed with you – they had to chop his head off. His wife and children ran into exile, and it’s the heirs of his younger brother who rule now.”
Inanna’s eyes widened in outrage. Cat couldn’t help laughing. “We did the same to one of our kings, too,” she said. “And they did it in France. Kings seem to get their heads chopped off quite regularly if they’re not careful.”
Inanna straightened her shoulders and put on her most regal expression. “When I am Empress of Ur-Akkad,” she said loftily, “I shall ensure that the people love me too much to even think of chopping off my head!”
Jem exploded with laughter and she gave him a baleful look. “I’m sorry,” he spluttered. “I’m sure they will love you! You’re very… er… lovable. If a teensy bit bossy.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could say anything, Sir Bedwyr was bowing before her with a flourish.
“O most glorious princess,” he said, “your people will of course adore you. How could they do otherwise? They will be utterly in awe of your beauty and wit.”
He straightened, his blue eyes gazing earnestly into her deep brown ones. Inanna, for once, was at a loss for words. Cat felt a slight twinge of jealousy, but then shrugged. Sir Bedwyr was extremely charming – it was no surprise if he was showering a little of that charm on an actual princess.
She turned to the Druid. “How do we get to this Belhaven place then?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve got an old friend who lives there. Local agent for the forest.” He fished Albert Jemmet’s keys out of the bowl where he’d thrown them. “We need to get to Albert’s lock-up. If I’m not mistaken, he’ll have a full set of agent’s tokens there.”
“Agent’s tokens?” said Jem. “What are they?”
“Small objects – keys, jewellery. Things that retain a strong essence of the world they come from. We should be able to use the one for Belhaven to conjure a portal and find my friend.” The Druid paused and contemplated them all seriously. “I’ll go first. Check everything’s safe. I’ll come back for Cat and Inanna when I’ve made arrangements. Meanwhile they both need to get some practise at sensing and controlling objects.”
He gestured towards Great-Aunt Irene, who was coming up the cellar stairs with a pile of dusty books in her arms.
“My old spell books,” she said in triumph. “I knew I’d left them carefully stored somewhere! We’ll have you sending your magic to objects in no time, don’t worry!”
Cat and Inanna exchanged glances.
“Um, are you sure it’s a good idea, going to Belhaven on your own?” said Cat. “Maybe if Inanna stayed, and I came and helped you…”
Inanna shot her a look of outrage. The Druid shook his head, smiling. “No, sorry, Cat. You really do need to get the hang of this magic. And so does Inanna.”
“But I mastered the fire amber!” said Inanna crossly. “I’m sure I can do it again with another piece!”
Great Aunt Irene frowned. “It’s not the same thing at all,” she said. “For a start, the sea amber will almost certainly be bound to another heir. We can’t guarantee they’ll be cooperative. You’ll need to be able to send your magic out to seek the jewel, find where it’s hidden. And then if you do manage to steal it, you have to try and take control of a piece of amber that belongs rightly to another. That’s very tricky. Only someone who’s got a connection to one of the other pieces could even attempt such a thing, and even then, they need to know exactly what they’re doing. Which is why you two –” she dumped the spell books down firmly on the kitchen table – “will be practising hard with me, and not gallivanting off to Belhaven till we’re sure exactly where in the Adamantine Sea you need to be.”
Inanna made a face, and threw herself into a chair.
Cat sighed. “OK,” she said. “But you know, Uncle Lou, you really shouldn’t be going on your own. I mean, can you even conjure a portal? It must be at least as difficult as a sugar bowl.”
The Druid’s face fell. “Damn,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll have to take someone with me.”
“I’ll go,” said Dora at once. “I can do the portal. And I know more magic than anyone else here.”
“If Dora goes, I’m going,” said Jem quickly. ‘We’re a team, aren’t we, Dora?”
Dora rolled her eyes at him, but Cat could tell that she was pleased.
The Druid gave a theatrical sigh. “Well then, young Jem. It seems we’ll be going to Belhaven in force. But no foolishness and no disobedience, or I’ll turn you into a toad.”
Jem raised one eyebrow and mouthed the words “sugar bowl”.
The corner of the Druid’s mouth twitched. “When I’ve got my strength back,” he said. “And don’t think I won’t. A sludgy brown one with warts.”
Sir Bedwyr stepped forward and gave the Druid a low bow. “Good luck!” he said, saluting the Druid with his sword. “Be assured I shall guard the Lady Catrin and Princess Inanna with my life.”
Great-Aunt Irene sniffed. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. But if you wish, you can start by patrolling the garden. And while you’re there, you can do some pruning. The wisteria’s got quite shocking since I died.”
“Good,” said the Druid. “Now we just need something to make a portal back from Belhaven.” He looked round the kitchen with a small frown, and then his face cleared. “Aha!” he said. “This will do the trick.” He picked up a small silver teaspoon from the sideboard. “I remember this from when Mother first moved here – must have been in this house twenty years at least. Should give us a good strong portal home.” He tucked it in his pocket and then gestured to Dora and Jem. “Come along. We’ll take Albert’s motorbike. You can go on the back, Dora. I think we’ll make Jem sit in the sidecar.”
Cat followed them down the hallway and out of the front door. She watched as the Druid settled himself astride the battered old motorbike and kicked it into life. He, Jem and Dora put on the helmets that were piled in the sidecar and then he turned to her with a grin.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” he shouted over the noise of the engine. “Keep an eye on Inanna. Practise your magic. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Cat nodded. He gave her a thumbs up and then put the bike into gear. With a jolt, it pulled away, and Dora, startled, threw her arms round his waist and clung on. They roared down the road, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind them.
Cat felt hollow inside as she watched them go. First Simon, then Mum – now Uncle Lou. Everyone she cared about was disappearing, one after the other, leaving her to just wait and hope they would be all right. Hope that everything would work out.
She swallowed, and walked back down the hall to the kitchen. Tucking her short blonde hair behind her ears, she stood facing the ghost of Great-Aunt Irene.
“OK,” she said. “How do I send my magic into an object?”
Dora clung to the Druid’s back as the motorbike accelerated down the road in a noisy cloud of fumes. She had never ridden on anything so disconcerting – not even the old rocking chair her grandmother had magicked to carry people round the village one summer fair. That had had a peculiar rolling motion and nine times out of ten deposited its passengers on their heads in the duck pond. But Albert Jemmet’s motorbike was worse. Dora kept thinking she was going to slide off the back of it or get her feet trapped in the whirring wheels. Every time the Druid accelerated, the round metallic helmet she’d been given to wear pulled up under her chin and made her feel as if her head was going to be wrenched off. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jem, leaning forward with excitement in the little oval carriage he was sitting in. He turned to her, his eyes shining.
“It’s brilliant, Dora, isn’t it?” he shouted.
“No! It’s awful!” she shouted back, but the wind whipped her words away behind them as they slewed round a corner and the bike skidded to a halt outside Albert’s garage.
The Druid dismounted and pulled off his helmet, running his fingers through his black hair with an expression of delight. “That was the most fun I’ve had in years,” he said. “Such a shame I’ve never been able to get the internal combustion engine to work in the kingdom.”
Dora removed her helmet and gingerly climbed off the back of the bike. The Druid laughed at her expression.
“Come on, Dora,” he said encouragingly. “It’s not that bad! A lot more reliable than a horse!”
Dora grimaced. “Horses,” she said with feeling, “are a lot quieter. And a lot slower!”
Jem jumped out of the sidecar as the Druid opened the garage and together they pushed the bike into one corner and covered it with a tarpaulin. The Druid took a swift look round and then headed towards a cupboard at the back. It had a multitude of small drawers and on the shelves above were a whole array of little hooks with keys dangling from them. Each key had a hand-written label attached.
The Druid scanned the labels and pulled out a few drawers to check what was inside. Muttering under his breath, he rummaged through one of the drawers until he found a large metal ring, like a bangle, with a faded brown label.
“Catch!” he said, throwing it to Dora, who fumbled for it slightly but managed to stop it falling onto the floor. The ring was plain iron, the metal a little rusty. The label, in a bold italic hand, read: Mooring ring, West Port, Belhaven: Isaac Drubel.
“They’re all from different worlds,” said Jem, fingering a few of the keys and examining the attached labels. “But why keys?”
“Metal,” said the Druid. “And a long association with a particular house. That makes them strong and accurate. Which is very useful when you need to get somewhere in a hurry.”
“So metal’s better for portals?” said Jem, interested. “Is that why you took the teaspoon? Because it’s silver?”
The Druid nodded. “Metal holds the essence of a world better than any other material. And more importantly, it will forge a link to the particular bit of the world that it’s been associated with longest. Cloth, on the other hand, is pretty well useless – your clothes absorb the essence of a new world almost instantly. No good trying to conjure a portal with your trousers.”
“Have you ever tried?” said Jem, his eyes sparkling.
“I might have,” said the Druid, looking faintly sheepish, and Dora stifled a laugh at the thought of the Druid, trouserless, frantically trying to make a portal to get away from a difficult situation.
“So what else works, apart from metal?” said Jem. “You used that railway ticket, so I guess paper…?”
“Not usually,” said the Druid. “Unless it’s got writing on it. Writing or printing is a powerful holder of a world’s essence. Rubber’s not too bad either – and glass is OK. But the best materials are metal or wood or stone. They’re the three strongest components of a world’s being. Damn near impossible to find in some worlds – everything’s plastic. Plastic is rubbish for portals.”
Jem took a plain iron key from the very first hook on the board. “Hey!” he said. “This is from the kingdom!” He peered more closely at the label. “The Outer Tap Room, Bull’s Head Tavern, The Royal City,” he read, and then looked up. “Why would Albert want to go to the outer tap room of an inn in the city?”
“I can’t think,” said the Druid drily. “Perhaps when he wanted a quiet pint of kingdom beer and a chance to catch up with the gossip.”
Jem grinned and twirled the key round his finger. “Right then, are we off? To this Belhaven place?”
The Druid turned to Dora. “Are you ready?’ he said.
She nodded and fingered the mooring ring carefully. She could tell it came from another world. She closed her eyes, sensing a wet, cold place with the tang of salt in the air. There was very little of the spicy smell of magic that was found in the kingdom, but still, it didn’t have quite the same flat, unmagical feel of Cat and Simon’s world.
“There’s a little magic there,” she said, opening her eyes. “But it’s strange – it doesn’t feel like human magic.”
“You’re right, Dora,” said the Druid with a warm smile. “It’s mostly nature magic in that world – water and river spirits, some tree people. Only a few humans can do magic, mostly from the Divided Kingdom. You’re a remarkably strong witch, you know. Not many people would have picked that up.”
Dora coloured at the praise, but she felt absurdly pleased. As she held the ring out in front of her, she noticed Jem quietly slipping the kingdom key he had found into his pocket. Dora frowned, but she didn’t say anything. She was concentrating on feeling the other world the mooring ring came from, finding the gap between that world and this one, and inserting the twisty magic of the portal spell between them. As she said the words, a white mist swirled in front of them, and then solidified into a doorway. The Druid clapped one hand on Jem’s shoulder and held out the other to Dora.
“Forward!” he said, and together they stepped through the mist.
Belhaven looked quite a lot like Dora had imagined it. They stepped out of the portal onto a wide stone quay, with boats in all sizes and states of disrepair leaning drunkenly against each other on the muddy sand or tied up against the harbour wall. Fishing nets and coils of rope were piled up by the quayside and seagulls wheeled overhead, screeching loudly. Everything smelled of fish.
Back from the quay, a row of timber-framed houses with narrow doors and windows peered disapprovingly across the harbour, their paint weathered and cracked, a few old lobster pots piled up by their front doors. The occasional window box of ragged sea pinks did nothing to brighten up their generally dour appearance. No one seemed to be about, which was lucky, as it meant their sudden arrival in the middle of the quayside drew no unwanted attention.
“This is the old port,” said the Druid. “It’s only used at high tide. The main commercial port is round the other side of the town. Come on!”
He set off with a long stride towards a narrow alley between two of the houses, but after a few paces had to stop and clutch his side.
“Sorry,” he said, his face white. “Forgetting myself. Too fast. This blasted wound…”
“Lean on me,” said Jem, offering his shoulder. The Druid put his hand on it gratefully.
“Give me a minute,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Dora gently pulled his jacket aside and examined the place where Jones’ spell had sliced into his side. She could see a stain of blood starting to seep across his shirt where the half-healed cut had opened up.
“Stand still,” she said. “My grandmother taught me a spell that might help. I just need to modify it slightly.”
She closed her eyes and felt for the right magic, then tweaked it a little and let it flow down from her fingertips. The Druid gasped and then straightened up, an expression of astonishment on his face.
“Worlds above, Dora! What did you do? It feels almost normal!”
Dora’s eyes sparkled, but she tried to look nonchalant. She waved one hand airily. “Oh, you know. Just a little family secret…”
The Druid patted her on the back. “Whatever it was, it did the trick. I might even risk a spell or two when I’ve got over the shock. Well done!”
He set off again towards the passageway. As they followed, Jem leaned in to Dora and said, in a low voice, “What did you do to him?”
Dora glanced up at the Druid’s back, and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “It’s a spell my grandmother uses to mend leaking roofs. I changed it to work on skin.”
Jem guffawed, and the Druid looked back with a quizzical expression. Both of them hurriedly caught up with him, trying to make themselves appear serious and ready for anything.
The narrow alley ran into a wider, more prosperous street, with tall stone houses lining each side. There were a few more people around now – bare-footed boys running errands or carrying boxes to or from the busy port, merchants in sober dark coats chatting to each other in doorways, or leaning over their balconies smoking a pipe and contemplating the morning bustle. The Druid stopped at a plain blue door with a brass knocker shaped like a dolphin. He rapped it smartly and after a few moments the door opened.
“The Druid to see Master Drubel,” he said to the maidservant who answered. She bobbed a curtsey and disappeared. The next second a short, well-dressed man exploded out of the doorway and started pumping the Druid’s arm up and down with enthusiasm. He had thick black hair and a square, cheerful face, and his bushy black eyebrows were shooting up and down as enthusiastically as his arm.
