Page 20 of The Neverfear

‘We have to,’ Anya rasped again. ‘He’ll know what to do.’ She spat out a mouthful of saliva and blood. ‘Nighthand will get her back. And they’ll never know.’

But even as she spoke, a stone plummeted from the sky. It missed her by inches, and she cried out in rage. Looking up, they saw a second stymphalian, this one larger than the first, taking off back into the sky.

Around the rock was wrapped a scrap of paper. Christopher pulled it off. But he already knew what it would say. The writing was jagged and blotched:

We will know.

If Fidens Nighthand discovers we have taken her, Irian Guinne will die instantly and painfully.

We are watching you.

Anya let out a cry. She dropped to her knees, and Christopher sank to a crouch next to her. She leaned her head against his. For a long moment they stayed there, their heads touching, waiting for the roar of pain and shock and bewilderment to pass.

It was Gallia who roused them. She came to land on Anya’s shoulder.

‘You must get up. You must both wash. You’re bleeding.’ Her voice, with its familiar governess croak, helped. Christopher rose and pocketed the two pieces of paper.

Anya moved, half blind, towards the water in the canal.

‘Not there,’ said Christopher. ‘It’s filthy. Your cuts will get infected.’

He led her back the way they had come, until they reached an empty square, with a single flowering tree under a clock tower. He had remembered there being a water fountain, and he took her to it and pumped the handle. Freezing cold water splashed over his hands. He rinsed the blood from them, from his face and arms – the wounds stung like acid but they weren’t deep – then pushed Anya towards it. She still moved as if stunned, so he pulled off his jacket, wet the sleeve and bathed Anya’s face with it.

‘You fought like a warrior,’ he said. It felt important to talk to her, to bring her back. ‘It was impressive. Like you weren’t afraid at all.’

The water on her face revived her. She blinked and shook herself, then put her entire head under the running stream, and tried to smile at him.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I was afraid. I was terrified. But I was even more angry than I was afraid. I think my body acted of its own accord.’ She scraped her soaking hair from her face. ‘What now, Christopher? What do we do?’

The ice-cold water had brought clarity, and Christopher spoke like he had been planning it for weeks, like he was as sure and confident as a king.

‘We do what they say,’ he said. ‘The kidnappers were the same men that Vigo Nex saw: the bandits. You saw their snake bracelets. They massacred a village. They murdered Senan’s father. When they say they’d kill Irian, we need to believe them. So we have no choice. We tell nobody. And we bring them what they want.’

‘The whiskers of a Cerberus?’ said Anya.

‘Yes. I don’t know why they want them, but if that’s what it takes, it’s what we have to do.’

‘I forgets you isn’t from heres,’ said Ratwin. ‘There is a sayings: As rares as the whiskers of a Cerberus. The whiskers is living golds.’

‘What even is a Cerberus?’ said Christopher. ‘Some kind of dog?’

‘It is a three-headed hound,’ said Jacques. ‘Each head is different. One used to guard the underworld, and their whiskers glowed bright enough to see the way.’

‘A single whisker of a Cerberus is worth thousands,’ croaked Gallia, ‘because those who try to pluck the whiskers are usually torn into three pieces by the three sets of teeth. Why these disgusting men want the whiskers is not the question. The far more pressing question is, why are they demanding two teenagers pluck them? Why not Nighthand, or any number of pirates that you find on the seas? Why not Vigo Nex?’

‘Becauses,’ said Ratwin, ‘nobodies would suspects it. Living with Nighthands has taughts me one things – the more extravagant your decisions, the harder they are to predicts.’

‘Nighthand!’ Anya’s colour returned in a sudden flood. ‘Christopher, if we just go seeking this dog, if we don’t come back, Nighthand will come looking for us. And if he finds out—’

‘Irian dies,’ said Jacques.

‘Then we’ll need to tell him a story,’ said Christopher. ‘Something he’ll believe. Gallia?’

Gallia waited, unspeaking.

‘Would you fly back to Glimt?’ said Christopher. ‘Could you tell Nighthand that Irian … I don’t know …’ He turned to Anya. ‘Tell him what?’

‘Tell him,’ said Anya, ‘that we were on the way to the Senate, but we were stopped by a friend of Irian’s who needed her help. He’ll believe that. She always helps.’