Jack, the Giant-Killer, page 7
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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The rumour touched all of Faerie that night: there was a new hope in the Seelie Court—a small one, true, but a hope all the same—and she meant to free the Laird’s daughter and would too, except that if the bogans didn’t get to her, then surely the Wild Hunt would. But whether she was doomed or not, the rumour of her ran from the heart of Kinrowan to the Borderlands. It was heard by the fiaina sidhe in their solitary haunts, and by the Seelie Court and the Host alike.
Hidden in a tree from which he could view both Manswater and Underbridge (the Rideau Canal and Lansdowne Bridge, respectively) with equal ease, Dunrobin Finn listened to the rumours, listened hard to hear if the Unseelie Court was looking for a hob skillyman as well. It wasn’t, not so that he heard, but he frowned all the same.
“Now she’s done it,” he muttered to himself. “She won’t get five feet from whatever hidey-hole she’s found, little say recover the Laird’s daughter now—not with half the Host looking for her tonight. And the Hunt…”
He pursed his lips and studied the sky. The night was draining quickly into morning. Too late for the Hunt to ride tonight perhaps, but it would be out tomorrow night, and then Jacky Rowan would know what it meant to be afraid.
“And they’ll be looking for her today,” he added aloud. “Those that can abide the light of day.”
He could see the troll who lived in Underbridge stirring, sifting through the rubbish he called his treasure. Looking for a sword, Finn thought. Looking for something with which to cut himself a piece of Jacky Rowan before he took what was left of her to Gyre the Elder.
“Oh, Jacky Rowan. You’d better learn or steal a greatspell damn quick if you want to live out the day.”
Finn frowned again, fingers plucking nervously at his beard. Oh, she was in trouble, deep trouble, there was no doubt about that, and he’d as much as thrown her to the wolves himself. If he’d just left well enough alone. Snatched Tom’s cap from her, maybe. Never told her about the Gruagagh, surely. Minded his own business like a good hob couldn’t.
“And that’s the trick, isn’t it?” he said to the night. “To be a good hob, you’ve got to stick your nose into a place or two and play your tricks, or what are you? Not a hob, that’s for damn sure.”
In Underbridge, the troll had found a rusty old sword and was now rubbing it on the big stone supports of the bridge. The grinding noise was loud coming across the water of the canal and it set Finn’s teeth on edge.
And they’ll all be doing that, he thought. Sharpening their weapons—those that have weapons. He shivered, remembering all the sluagh he’d seen go by tonight. A troll’s stupid face, with its crooked teeth and mismatched eyes, nose like a big bird’s beak—that was nothing like the faces of the restless dead. They had a drowned look about them—pale and bloated.
From across the canal, the troll’s grinding continued. Finn scurried down his tree at last, mind made up. He was looking for Jacky Rowan, so it was best he got back to it. Best he found her, before something else did.
“And that’s one thing for rumours,” he said as he set off at a quick run, south and east. “They tell you where to go.”
Like following the thread of one of his own hob stitcheries, he chased the threads of the rumors. They led him through Cockle Tom’s Garve, back and forth across the Manswater, then down into Crowdie Wort’s Bally, where he’d first met and then lost Jacky earlier that night. Here the rumours were too thick, the threads twisting in and out of each other, for him to locate exactly where she was.
“But she’s here,” he said as he found a perch in a comfortable old oak tree on Killbrodie Way, which is the faerie name for Sunnyside Avenue. “And close, too. I’ll bide a bit, now won’t I, Mistress Oak, snug in your arms. Then we’ll see what the morning brings.”
Three blocks east, the Big Man’s sluagh were gathered around Kate Hazel’s house, peering through windows, looking for a way in. But the latches were all latched, the doors locked, and there was no one awake that they could trick into letting them in. Then the night finally drained away and they returned to their marshes, the bogans to their sewer dens, the trolls to their bridges.
Dunrobin Finn lay fast asleep in the arms of a Mother Oak, and the black rider kicked his Harley into life outside Kate Hazel’s house. The chopper coughed loudly in the still street, a sound heard only in Faerie, and pulled away from the curb.
Another night was only hours away and he could be patient. He would have his brothers with him then. Let the hope of the Laird’s folk sleep for now, for tonight the full Hunt would ride and there would be no escape. Not any at all.
The Gruagagh of Kinrowan watched the sun come up, pinking the eastern skies. For long silent moments he stared out the window of his house, that in Faerie was his Tower, then he turned at last from the view and sighed. The rumours had touched him as well—from the swollen lips of the sluagh, on the airy voices of those gnomes that rode the wind.
A hope? he asked the silent room. He remembered too well the power of the Unseelie Court.
That girl, he thought. She had the name—both Rowan and Jack—so there was more than luck in her arrival at the Tower tonight. But the task was hard. She would need help and friends, and with the Host’s ranks swelling more every day, where would she find either?
Better a small hope than none at all, the rumouring tongues of the wind gnomes whispered outside the Tower.
Unhappily, the Gruagagh returned to the window to watch the sunlight wash Learg Green with her light. The park glistened. The skies were a brilliant blue. But there was misfortune in the air. The Gruagagh could taste it. Like Finn, he knew he had pushed Jacky into danger, but unlike the hob, he couldn’t follow after to try to help. The Tower protected him, but it kept him a prisoner as well. He could only listen to the gossip on the wind and wonder at the fate of the hope of Kinrowan.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
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When Jacky woke, the bed beside her was empty. She had time for one blind moment of panic, then she saw the note pinned to the pillow beside her, and relaxed. Stilling the thunder of her pulse, she pulled the note free. It said, in Kate’s familiar scrawl that passed for her handwriting:
Wimped out, didja? Well, don’t panic. Mother Kate’s just gone to the store to get us some goodies. Back soon. K.
Jacky grinned. She supposed she’d never hear the end of this. But last night, she was sure there’d been something at the window, peering in. Something that called to her, to open wide the windows… Right now, all that made its way through the panes was a wash of sunshine.
Slipping out of bed, Jacky padded to the bathroom, wearing the oversized T-shirt that she’d borrowed last night to serve as a nightie. By the time she was dressed and sitting in the kitchen, frowning over the long tear in her jeans, Kate was back and making them both a breakfast of sausages and pancakes. Two mugs of coffee steamed on the table in the breakfast nook.
“So, when are we going?” Kate asked. She drifted over to the table to take a sip of her coffee before returning to the stove to fuss with their breakfast.
“I can’t even believe it’s real anymore,” Jacky said.
“Then why’d you crawl into bed with me last night?” Kate asked. “Or have you just given up on men?”
Jacky blushed. “No. It’s just…”
“I know.” Kate concentrated on pouring a new batch of batter without spilling any of it over the sides of the frying pan into the burner. While she was waiting for airholes to appear on the tops of the pancakes so that she could flip them, she turned back to look at Jacky. “But what are we going to do?”
Jacky ran a hand through the stubble of her hair. “I thought maybe I’d go to the hairdressers’ and see what they can do with this.”
“Jacky, nobody’ll be able to do anything with that. If you ask me, you should dye it a few different colours. You know, a bit of pink, some mauve, maybe a black streak…”
“Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. Want to get the plates out of the oven?”
“Sure. I thought I’d go home and change first,” she added as she took out the plates. There were three sausages and two pancakes on each one.
“Want me to go with you?”
“I don’t want to be a pain…”
“Hey, what are mothers for?” Kate grinned as she put another pair of pancakes on each plate and took them over to the table. “Look, it’s no problem,” she said as she pushed one of them across to Jacky. “I might be teasing you about all this, but I wouldn’t want you to go over there by yourself.”
“Thanks.”
They were busy eating for the next little while, but once the initial edge of her hunger had worn off, Jacky looked across the table.
“Last night,” she said. “I was wearing that jacket that Finn stitched with his magics. You weren’t supposed to be able to see me when I was wearing it, but you did.”
“That’s right,” Kate said.
“Do you think it doesn’t work?”
“We should probably check it out,” Kate replied.
So after breakfast, Jacky donned her blue quilted jacket and buttoned it up. She stood in the middle of the living room with Kate watching her.
“Well?” she asked.
“I can see you.”
“Shit.” Jacky started to unbutton the jacket.
“Wait a sec,” Kate said.
Jacky paused. “What is it?”
“When I don’t look directly at you, you get all fuzzy—you know what I mean?” She stood facing away from Jacky and looked at her from the corner of her eye. ”And now I can’t see you at all.“
“Maybe it doesn’t work properly in the daytime or under a bright light,” Jacky said.
“Maybe. But maybe it’s just that I know you too well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, to get all metaphysical about it, we’re pretty close—right? Maybe it’s just that I know your vibes so well that you can’t be invisible around me. I feel you near and since I know you’re there, it cancels out the magic.”
“What if it just doesn’t work?” Jacky wanted to know.
“There’s an easy way to find out,” Kate said. She took her own coat from the closet and tossed Jacky the redcap. “Let’s go to your place.”
Jacky fingered the tear in her jeans, then straightened up and studied herself in Kate’s hall mirror. God, she looked a mess. No wonder Bhruic had called her a tatterdemalion last night. She tugged the redcap on and tried to capture the various unruly locks that poked out from under it, then gave it up as a lost cause.
“Ready?” Kate asked.
Jacky nodded and followed her friend out the front door.
There was no way for them to check out people’s reactions until they reached Bank Street, and then the reality of the hob’s stitcheries were brought home with a very physical jar. No sooner were they standing on the corner of Sunnyside and Bank—after passing a certain oak tree with a hob fast asleep in its branches—than a woman ran over Jacky’s toe with the wheels of her stroller.
“Oww!” Jacky cried.
The woman stumbled, almost overturning the stroller in her haste to back away.
“Jeez, that hurt,” Jacky said to Kate.
The woman looked from Kate to where Jacky’s voice was coming from, her eyes widening. Then her baby started to howl. As she bent over it, Kate quickly took Jacky’s arm and hurried off across the street.
“Well, it works,” she said.
Jacky looked back across the street to where the woman was still standing. The woman gazed across the street at Kate, then at the place Jacky’s voice had come from until, shaking her head, she went on her way.
“This could be kind of fun,” Jacky said. “Just think of the tricks you could play.”
“That,” Kate replied, “sounds suspiciously like what I’ve heard brownies and hobs are like, not my friend Jacky. You’d better watch yourself.”
“Why?”
The answer was on the tip of Kate’s tongue, but then she shook her head. She was worried that something in the hob’s magic might soak through Jacky’s coat and shoes and cap, that the stitcheries would change her friend, because that was the danger with Faerie, wasn’t it? Mortals who entered it never came out unchanged. But she didn’t have the heart to spoil Jacky’s good mood just now.
Her friend stood in front of her, with her eyes all sparkling and her cheeks flushed, looking more alive than Kate could remember her being for a long time. Kate smiled. She was almost used to the unruly stubble that was all that was left of Jacky’s hair now. It certainly gave her more of a mischievous air.
And who was to say that a little of the Puckish prankster in her wouldn’t do Jacky a world of good? With all the weirdness going down—and with what they were going to be getting into when they headed out to Calabogie—maybe Jacky deserved to get something out of all this. Kate would just have to keep an eye on her, that was all.
“You know,” she said finally. “I could get to like your new look.”
“That’s what I’ve got to watch out for? ‘ Jacky asked. ”Your bad taste?“
Kate laughed “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get moving.” They headed south down Bank Street, Jacky being careful not to bump into anyone, but keeping Kate in stitches with the faces she pulled at the passersby.
Jacky’s apartment was the top half of a red brick duplex on Ossington Avenue, four blocks south of Sunnyside and a block and a half west of Bank Street. Her downstairs neighbour was repotting plants on the porch as they approached and looked up when they arrived. His gaze went to Kate, since he couldn’t see Jacky. This pleased Jacky enormously until he began to speak.
“Hello, Kate. I think Jacky’s sleeping off last night’s binge.”
“Binge?”
Joe Reaves brushed some dirt from his hands and nodded. “You should have heard the party she was having up there last night. Didn’t bother me too much—I’m off today anyway and I still owe her for the one I threw this summer—but I’m surprised Beekman next door didn’t phone in a complaint.” He paused suddenly. “Say, how come you weren’t there? At the party, I mean.”
“I… uh… couldn’t make it,” Kate said slowly.
Standing beside her, Jacky felt all the fun drain out of her invisibility trick. Her stomach was suddenly tied in knots.
“Well, it sounded like some bash,” Joe said. “I didn’t think she had it in her, you know? She always seems so serious—or quiet anyway.”
“Yeah, well… I’d better see how she’s feeling,” Kate said and moved for the door.
She opened it, then stepped aside to let Jacky go in, covering up by pretending to listen to whatever it was that Joe was saying now. She could see his lips moving, but the words weren’t registering. Dragging up a smile, she nodded to him, then followed Jacky inside and closed the door behind them.
“I was out,” Jacky said in a tense voice. She unbuttoned her jacket and took it off, folding it across her arm. “All night, Kate. I wasn’t here.”
Kate nodded. She looked up the stairs, a feeling of dread catpawing along her spine. It was a beautiful autumn day outside, but that wasn’t reflected in here. A dark, indefinable sensation crept down the stairs to meet them. Something awful was waiting for them up there, she just knew it. She wanted to run, but forced herself to take the first step, a second, a third. When she reached the landing, Jacky pushed by her, key in hand. Here, directly outside the door, the feeling of wrongness was stronger than ever.
“Maybe we should ask Joe to come in with us,” Kate said.
“And tell him what?” Jacky asked.
Kate nodded. He’d wonder were Jacky had come from and if it hadn’t been her in the apartment last night, then who had it been? It would just get too complicated to explain. As Jacky fit the key into the lock, Kate wished that they had a weapon of some kind, but all the had was her little trusty Swiss pen knife that she usually carried in her jeans. The key turned with a loud snick. They exchanged worried glances, then Jacky pushed the door open.
“Oh, God,” Kate murmured, moving into the apartment beside a stunned Jacky.
The living room looked as though someone had let loose a small tornado in it. Sofa and chairs were turned over, upholstery cut open, the stuffing swelling out through the jagged slits. The coffee table was in two pieces. The curtains had been torn down and left lying in a corner. Jacky’s books were all pulled from the bookcase and scattered throughout the room, most of them in two or three pieces.
They could see the kitchen from where they stood. The refrigerator door hung ajar. Milk and eggs were smeared across the counters and floor. Clouds of flour and spices and rolled oats had settled over everything. Frozen meat was un-thawing in bloody puddles. Shattered plates and cups and saucers covered the floor. A sour, spoiled smell rolled through the apartment.
“The Host,” Jacky said, tears swelling in her eyes as she took in the ruin. “That’s who did this. The Unseelie Court.”
“But what were they looking for?” Kate asked.
Jacky turned to her. “Me,” she said in a small voice. “And… and when they didn’t find me, they… they did this…”
The premonition of danger hadn’t left Kate yet. “Let’s get out of here,” she said and gave Jacky’s arm a tug.
Jacky shook off her hand and moved towards the bedroom.
She was all empty inside—not the empty she’d felt when Will walked out, the empty that she had nothing important in her life, but an emptiness more akin to the aftermath of rape. Her most private place—her home—had been ravaged. Violated.
She tried to summon up an anger, but everything just seemed too bleak. As if nothing mattered anymore. All that was necessary now was to discover the full scope of the damage. Had the plush toys that had been her friends since childhood been destroyed? Had they broken the clock that had been the last Christmas present her grandmother gave her before she died? Was there anything left in one piece?
