Barda cleared his throat. ‘What a great pity!’ he said. ‘If you are returning to the east, I fear that we must part company with you.’
‘What?’ Bess dropped her spoon with a clatter. ‘But you cannot leave us! Lewin has a great future before him. You, too, Berry, from all I have heard. And even young Jay—’
‘Ah, well, it cannot be helped,’ Barda said firmly. ‘As you know, my nephews and I have always planned to go to the west.’
Lief glanced at Rust. Her eyes were shining with amazed relief.
You did not expect this, did you, Rust? he thought. You were so sure we were spies, and would cling to the troupe as long as we could. Well, you were wrong. Soon you will be rid of us. And we will be rid of you!
Bess was panting, as if she had been running. She turned to Lief.
‘Surely you do not want this, do you, Lewin?’ she demanded.
‘I am sorry, Bess, but my first loyalty must be to my uncle,’ Lief said, grateful that he did not have to hurt her even further by admitting he wanted to leave. ‘Wherever he goes, I must go too.’
Bess bowed her head, struggling to calm herself. ‘Well,’ she mumbled. ‘This has been a great shock.’
At last she looked up. ‘But perhaps it is all for the best,’ she said, smiling bravely. ‘Bring a jug of wildberry wine, if you please, Rust. Berry needs restoring. Quill worked him far too hard this afternoon. And bring some oatcakes with honey for the young ones.’
The fox-woman nodded and hurried away, taking the used dishes from the table with her. Clearly she was in high good humour.
‘Lewin,’ Bess said, ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘What is it, Bess?’ asked Lief cautiously.
‘I want you to go into my wagon, and take the round silver box from beneath my bed,’ Bess said. ‘In the box, you will find a mask. I want you to put that mask on, Lewin, and wear it for me.’
Lief’s stomach turned over.
‘I see by your eyes that you have guessed,’ Bess said. ‘Yes. It is the mask of Bede’s adulthood—the mask he never wore. It would have been yours one day, Lewin, if you had stayed with us.’
She looked down at her folded hands. ‘Now that will never be,’ she said. ‘But it would give me such joy to see you wear it—just for a single hour—on this, our last night together.’
Lief hesitated. He could feel Barda and Jasmine staring at him. No doubt they could see no harm in Bess’s request.
And what was the harm?
He stood up. ‘If it would please you, Bess,’ he said.
He took a lantern from the collection around the table, and moved to the back of the wagon.
The sack that had stood by the door now sagged half empty. A fire burned beneath the black iron pot, which was filled with slowly bubbling liquid that looked like porridge, but smelled strongly of rotten fruit.
Lief wrinkled his nose. Plainly, Bess was cooking some of the roots from the secret field.
I am glad we are leaving tomorrow, if that is to be the Masked Ones’ dinner tomorrow night, he thought.
He entered the wagon, went quickly to the bed and soon found the silver box.
Inside, wrapped in yellow silk, was a magnificent mask—a gleaming blue bird-head, similar to the one he was wearing, but much finer and more lifelike.
Lief reached out and touched it. It seemed to quiver beneath his fingers. For a single, horrible moment it seemed alive. Lief snatched his hand away, his heart beating wildly. He clutched at the Belt of Deltora, hidden beneath his clothes.
Gradually his panic ebbed away. He forced himself to look down.
The mask lay in its bed of silk—a beautiful, lifeless thing of feathers, fabric and paste.
Filled with shame, Lief took off his old mask. At the same moment, the village clock began striking eleven. The sound seemed so loud and clear!
For a few moments he relished his freedom. Then, as the last, ringing chime died away, he gritted his teeth, picked up the new mask, and pulled it on.
8 – Tricks
The mask felt soft and cool against Lief’s skin. It was so light that he could barely feel it. It moulded itself to his face and neck as though it had been made for him. It was almost like wearing no mask at all.
Suddenly he felt more cheerful. He let himself out of the wagon and strode back to where Bess, Barda and Jasmine were waiting.
Bess was lying back in her chair with her eyes closed, but Barda and Jasmine turned to look at him.
Jasmine started, her eyes wide. Barda gave a muffled gasp, and half-rose from his stool.
‘What is wrong?’ Lief asked, confused.
Jasmine swallowed. ‘You look—you look as if you are half bird,’ she whispered. ‘That mask…’
‘I have never seen anything like it,’ said Barda, sinking back onto the stool again. ‘It made the hair rise on the back of my neck!’
Feeling quite pleased at the excitement he had caused, Lief sat down.
Bess’s eyes fluttered open. They focused on him, widened, and seemed to glow.
‘Ah,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you, Lewin. You have made an old woman very happy. Wear it for an hour—till midnight. That will be enough.’
She rubbed her hands. ‘Now!’ she said. ‘Let me entertain you!’
The companions looked at her blankly, and she laughed.
‘Do you think that the Masked Ones have only acrobats, singers and clowns to offer?’ she cried, waving at the people practising by the central fire. ‘Why, we can do far more than that! I, for example, can read minds!’
‘Is that so?’ asked Barda dryly.
‘Indeed,’ said Bess. ‘But to do it I must have my trusty glass!’
Grunting with effort, she bent and lifted from the ground the glass ball Lief had last seen in her wagon. She placed the ball in the centre of the table.
‘Now, who is to be my subject?’ she asked. ‘Berry? Are you willing?’
‘Certainly,’ agreed Barda, grinning broadly. ‘But I warn you—no one who has ever tried it has been able to read my mind. My skull is too thick, perhaps.’
‘Then I will begin with something simple,’ Bess said calmly. ‘Think of a number between one and nine. Make your nephews aware of what it is, if you wish, but do not tell me.’
Barda shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I have it.’
Below the table top, where Bess could not see, he held up five fingers, telling Lief and Jasmine that the number he had chosen was five.
‘Concentrate on the number, all of you,’ said Bess. ‘Try to think of nothing else.’
She held her hands just above the glass ball. She closed her eyes and began to chant in a low, sing-song voice.
The table top seemed to rise slightly. Then, slowly, it began to spin. The purple cloth shimmered as it moved, its hem whispering as it brushed the dusty grass. The glass ball turned in the centre, winking in the candlelight.
Lief felt a chill run down his spine. He knew this must be a trick, but the sight was eerie. Bess is a good actor, he thought.
Bess’s blind owl face loomed over the turning table. Her hands, with their many flashing rings, cast shadows on the winking glass ball.
No doubt she has done this a thousand times, Lief thought. As her mother did before her. And her grandmother and great-grandmother too, no doubt.
Suddenly he was filled with a strange sort of pride to be among these talented people, sharing their life. Almost, he regretted that he had to leave them so soon.
‘The visions are hazy,’ Bess murmured. ‘I cannot see clearly. Someone’s mind is wandering.’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘That number is no good to me now. I will have to try again. Berry—double the number! Then—then multiply it by—by five! The answer is your new number.’
‘Very well,’ Barda said. He glanced at Lief and Jasmine, who nodded. The new number was fifty.