Why could he not stop shivering?
The crowd surged around him. Waves of music battered him. A group of masked children playing some chasing game surrounded him, jostled him, laughed shrilly and ran on. The little apprentice magician, Zerry, was among them.
I hope Rust did not see you, Zerry, Lief thought, looking down at his honey-smeared jacket. You would do well to keep away from her—at least until you have washed your hands.
The crowd parted a little, and he caught a glimpse of Jasmine swinging on a high bar with three of the blue-clad acrobats. She seemed as far away from him as if she was on the moon. In the distance, in front of Bess’s wagon, he could see the figures of Barda and Bess still sitting at the table.
Bess was passing the puzzle box back to Barda. By her actions, and Barda’s laughter, Lief realised that she had managed to find and release a second lock, but the box still had not opened. He smiled, watching.
Bess fumbled, and the box fell onto the ground.
Barda bent to pick it up.
And, as quickly as a striking snake, Bess leaned across the table and tipped something into his cup.
9 – Terror
For a split second Lief stared, hardly able to believe his eyes. It had all happened so quickly! He had seen no bottle or jar in Bess’s hand.
But he had clearly seen a stream of white powder fall into the cup. He had seen it!
A wave of horror flooded through him. Frantically he began to fight his way through the crowd towards Bess’s wagon.
Bess is a good actor…
Oh, yes, Bess is a good actor, he thought wildly. Good enough to convince us that she had given in gracefully. Good enough to laugh and joke with Barda while coldly planning his death.
He groaned aloud as he remembered what he had said to Bess.
… my first loyalty must be to my uncle… Wherever he goes, I must go too.
Those words had signed Barda’s death warrant.
For Bess, it had all been very simple. Berry stood between Lewin and Bess. So Berry must die.
The crowd parted briefly and Lief saw that Barda was back in his chair again. Bess was pouring more wine into his cup and her own.
‘Barda!’ Lief roared. ‘Do not drink!’
But it was useless! His voice was drowned by the crowd’s noise.
Animal and bird heads loomed all around him like things out of nightmare. Clowns capered foolishly in front of him, barring his way. He dodged around them, and cannoned into the girls on stilts.
With a shrill scream, one of the girls toppled and fell, crashing down on a group of jugglers.
That attracted Bess and Barda’s attention. Lief saw Barda turn. He saw Bess peer at the crowd, one hand shading her eyes. He saw Kree flutter down from the tree like a black shadow.
Frantically Lief shouted and waved. But Bess and Barda were looking at the girl, who was scrambling unsteadily to her feet while the jugglers crawled around her, picking up the balls they had dropped. Kree was nowhere to be seen.
Again the crowd closed in. Lief put his head down and pushed forward desperately, thrusting people aside, ignoring their angry protests.
‘Make way!’ he shouted. ‘Make way!’
‘Make way yourself, you rude young pup!’ snarled a man in a ragged bear mask. He pushed Lief violently between the shoulder blades.
Lief lurched forward and crashed, sprawling, to the ground. All the breath was knocked from his body. Coughing and gasping he crawled to his knees, shaking his head to clear it.
He had been thrown out of the crowd. Ahead he could see clear ground. He could see the wagon beneath the tree, and the two people sitting at the purple-covered table, ringed with lanterns.
Barda and Bess had picked up their cups and were raising them in a toast.
‘No!’ Lief gasped.
They both threw their heads back, and drank.
‘No!’ Lief croaked in agony. ‘No! Barda!’
He staggered to his feet and began to run.
It was as though everything was moving very slowly. As though he was seeing everything through a bright mist.
He reached the table, the breath wheezing in his chest. Barda turned to look at him. Bess half rose, her smooth owl face expressionless.
‘What is wrong?’ Barda exclaimed in alarm.
‘Lewin!’ Bess cried, at the same moment. ‘I fear your uncle is not well. His efforts today strained his heart and—’
She broke off. Her golden eyes widened and filled with what seemed like surprise. She looked down at her cup still clutched in her hand.
Her fingers jerked. The cup fell onto the table, spun and lay still.
Then she fell back, clutching her chest.
Barda exclaimed and jumped up, the stool tipping and falling behind him.
Stunned, Lief stared down at the table—at Bess’s fallen cup. From its lip, the last drops of wine trickled onto the purple tablecloth—gleaming red wine, mixed with a pale sludge of white powder.
‘She drank the poison herself!’ he whispered. ‘But how—?’
Then he looked up—up at the tree that stretched above them. Kree was back on his perch on the lowest branch. He was very still. But his yellow eyes were gleaming.
I can make the table turn and stop again with the slightest tap of my foot.
So Bess had said. They had all heard her, including Kree. No doubt Kree had reasoned that the slightest tap of a strong beak like his would work just as well.
And so it had. Lief remembered the moment when the girl on stilts had fallen. Both Bess and Barda had looked towards the crowd. And that had been the moment Kree had been waiting for. While their attention was distracted, he had flown down from his perch, hopped under the table and done what he had to do.
The table top had turned. The cups had been reversed. Bess had drunk her own poison.
Masked Ones from the edges of the crowd were running towards them, realising that something was wrong. They stood gaping as their leader lay back fighting for breath.
Barda had sprung to Bess’s side, and was bending over her. ‘It must be her heart!’ he shouted. ‘She needs air!’
He began tearing at Bess’s mask.
‘No!’ Bess muttered, her hands moving feebly, trying to push Barda’s away. ‘No…’
With a tiny click, the top of the golden ring on her little finger fell open like a lid. A few grains of white powder still clung to the sides of the cavity revealed within.
This ring is worn by the leader of the Masked Ones…
Lief stared, Bess’s words echoing in his mind. Words he now truly understood.
In the hand of the leader lies the gift of life… and death.
‘Lief! I cannot get her mask off. My fingers are too clumsy. Help me!’ Barda’s voice was agonised.
Lief moved stiffly to his side. He knew that it was useless. He knew that Bess was doomed. But still he grasped the feathers at the base of her mask and pulled upwards with all his strength.
Bess shrieked in agony.
Startled, Lief looked down at his fingers.
They were red with blood. Blood was streaming from beneath the torn rim of the mask’s base, trickling down Bess’s neck, soaking into the silk of her purple dress…
He met Barda’s horrified eyes.
‘The mask will not come off,’ he muttered, through chattering teeth. ‘It is part of her. Joined to her. It will not…’
He backed away, holding his bloody hands out in front of him.
A woman in the crowd screamed hysterically.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted the voice of the fox-woman behind them. ‘Get away from her! Bess! Oh, Bess!’
In seconds, the members of the Masked Ones’ inner circle were pushing Lief and Barda aside, clustering around Bess, trying to hide her from the gathering crowd.
But it was too late. Everyone had seen.