The Third Door

10 - Carryl

Petronelle started up when Keelin cried out. She jumped out of bed and hurried over to him, plump in her pink, frilled nightgown, her fluffy hair standing up at odd angles all over her head. She clicked her tongue when she saw the small, cold body on the hearth. The clink had clearly been lying there for hours. Its tiny claws were spread wide, its mouth was gaping, the sooty flaps of skin that Keelin recognised with surprise and pity as sad little wings had stiffened in death.

‘Ah, never mind, Keelin,’ Petronelle soothed. ‘Poor creature. Its time had come, that’s all.’

She went to the door, looked out, and murmured something. Instantly Jett was in the room. He strode to the fireplace and removed the dead clink, wrapping it first in a piece of rag the old woman thrust at him.

‘I gave it the spice cake last night,’ Keelin said, the moment the door had closed again. ‘The spice cake that was meant for me.’

Petronelle stared at him. Suddenly her face was watchful.

‘You think it was poisoned,’ she said slowly. ‘But Zak gave it to you. Surely you do not think he or Farr—?’

Keelin shook his head. On impulse he took the threatening message from his pocket and handed it to her. She read it in silence, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand.

The drawstring bag seemed to throb against Keelin’s skin. The silken hood and the two blue pebbles burned in the pocket of his gown. He opened his mouth to speak—to ask about the hiding of the bag, the hood …

‘Listen to me, Keelin,’ Petronelle whispered, leaning towards him. ‘This is very important.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve tried to protect you, but now it’s known you’re awake and gaining strength I’ll have less and less power over what happens to you. You’re going to have to find your own way, and if you can’t remember what that way is, you’re just going to have to trust your instincts to lead you right.’

Keelin gaped at her in confusion.

‘I know you’re good,’ she went on, in the same, low whisper. ‘You can’t nurse someone for as long as I’ve nursed you and not know his heart. You’re kind, Keelin. You’re brave. You’re loving. You think things through. You try to do what’s right. You wouldn’t willingly harm any living creature.’

She was very sincere, Keelin could feel it. But her words of praise, which should have warmed him, made him uneasy. For why had she said them at all?

‘I feel it was meant that we should meet,’ the harsh old voice whispered on. ‘I think perhaps it’s why I was born. I’ve betrayed Farr and Janna for you, Keelin. I haven’t told them all I know. I’ve kept some things secret, till your memory came back and you could speak for yourself.’

‘Petronelle—’ Keelin began, but she shook her head and put her fingers to his lips.

‘No, there’s more,’ she hissed. ‘We haven’t much time—I feel it! It’s been hard for me, very hard, to make myself deceive Farr and Janna. Farr’s a fine man, and Janna’s like my own child. I pray I’ve done right. Swear to me that whatever the future holds you’ll do nothing to harm them, Keelin! Swear to help Farr in his struggle. Swear to be loyal to him, to the death!’

She took her fingers away. Her strange eyes searched Keelin’s, filled with agonised appeal.

‘I swear it with all my heart,’ Keelin said without hesitation, and watched with wondering pity as the old woman’s face became slack with relief. She had asked so little of him. How could he ever regret such an oath? He had nothing but respect for Chieftain Farr, wanted nothing more than to help him.

Petronelle turned away and hurried to her cot. She threw a red dressing gown over her nightdress, smoothed her hair and thrust her feet into worn slippers.

‘I’m going to Farr and Janna, to tell them about the clink,’ she whispered, going to the door. ‘There’s no time to lose if I’m to catch them alone. Lock the door after me, Keelin. Open to no one but Janna, Farr or me. And Keelin—keep your bandage on! Whatever you may think, you need it!’

And with that, she was gone.

Keelin locked the door after her, feeling more confused and helpless than ever. He looked over his shoulder at his rumpled bed, suddenly yearning to lie down, draw the covers up to his chin, and sleep.

But another part of his mind was resisting—the part that was tired of confusion and helplessness, the part that was telling him it was time to be himself again, with memory or without it.

He walked to the window and drew back the curtain. The sky was clear, pale blue. He stood for a moment, taking great gulps of air that smelled of the sea. Then he left the window and moved past the silent fireplace to the chest in the corner.

He opened the chest and slowly dressed himself, pulling garments out one at a time. At last only the stick remained. He picked it up cautiously, but this time there was no disturbing flash of memory, only a feeling of rightness. He pushed it into his belt, and at once knew that was where it belonged.

Fully clothed for the first time in days, his feet unnaturally heavy in boots, he went to his chair and sat down. He was tired, but as he had hoped, dressing had made him feel less like an invalid and more like a person who could control his own destiny.

He put his hand over the little bag that hung around his neck. Now, he thought, I am ready to think about you. But before he could open the drawstring, there was a violent hammering on the door.

‘Open, Keelin!’ Farr shouted, his voice harsh with fear. ‘For pity’s sake, make haste! I need you!’

Ten minutes later, Keelin was rattling through the city in a carriage with Zak by his side. Jett was in front, driving the horses, but otherwise they were alone. It was so early that few people were on the streets and they sped along at a good pace.

‘The museum’s good to visit,’ Zak told his companion happily. ‘It’s very old. People always want to pull it down but Carryl won’t let them.’

Keelin smiled and nodded though he had barely heard what the child had said. His mind was back at the chieftain’s lodge where Petronelle, grim-faced, was labouring to save the lady Janna, who was lying still and pale like one dead.

‘If Petronelle hadn’t knocked on our door and roused me when she did it would have been too late!’ Farr had said through chattering teeth. ‘I woke to find Janna barely breathing. Poisoned, Keelin, like the clink in your room! As it is, there’s a chance. If anyone can save her, it’s Petronelle.’

Zak did not know his mother’s danger. Zak thought only that he was being given a great treat—an unexpected visit to the museum with Keelin.

‘I must get the boy away,’ Farr had muttered rapidly. ‘He mustn’t know what’s happened—not yet. He’ll suffer enough later if—if things don’t go well.’

He had swallowed and quickly turned his head away, and suddenly Keelin had been gripped by a vivid memory of someone else—someone he saw in his mind only as a quick flash. Someone tall and strong, with a great heart and powerful emotions he tried not to show. Frantically Keelin had groped after the image, trying to call it back, but it had gone.

‘Till I get to the bottom of this horror you’re the only one I can trust to go with Zak, Keelin, for you were almost a victim of the poisoner yourself,’ Farr had gone on after a moment. ‘If I send him alone with Jett he’ll know there’s something wrong. But if I tell him you want to see the museum …’

The carriage was slowing. And there before them was a deep, sparkling bay, edged by a low stone wall.

His interest roused in spite of his fears, Keelin drank in the sight. The bay was crowded with ships and surrounded by docks and warehouses. Even at this early hour, the decks of the ships were alive with movement. On the shore, pie-sellers and vendors of sweet buns, soup, coffee and tea were already at work, serving the gaudily clad customers clustering around their stalls.

Standing at the top of a small rise straight ahead, commanding a magnificent view of the bay, was a low, ramshackle building.

‘We’re here!’ cried Zak, as the carriage came to a stop. ‘Come on, Keelin! Carryl will be so glad to see us! She says more people should come to the museum. She says people don’t realise how important it is, and that’s why the council won’t vote for money to mend it. But Father and Mother understand. They say the museum should stay here, whatever Trader Manx and Trader Barron think.’

He glanced at Keelin anxiously, perhaps suddenly realising how shabby the museum was and fearing that the visitor might be disappointed.

‘I am looking forward to seeing inside,’ Keelin said heartily, though in truth the old building looked like a wreck to him. He could well understand why the traders whose warehouses stood around the bay might envy its prime position and see it as a blot on the landscape. It was hard to imagine that there would be anything much to see in such a place.

But it would be interesting to meet Carryl, beloved chieftain turned museum keeper. Interesting, too, to hear about the ‘important discovery’ Carryl had mentioned in her message to Farr. Wishing his legs were not quite so wobbly, Keelin followed Zak up the little hill, leaving Jett staring broodingly out to sea.

Wearing filthy overalls, heavy gloves and work boots, Carryl greeted her visitors in a small, dusty lobby that smelled vaguely of cooked vegetables. She was extremely tall and thin, with a beaky nose, a wide, humorous mouth, piercing blue eyes and white hair screwed into a tiny knot on the top of her head. Old as she was, her every movement seemed charged with energy. Beside her was a puny boy, a few years younger than Zak, whose features were miniature versions of hers, giving his small face a clownish look.

‘Pieter, take Zak into the workroom and find that tin of sweetcakes your mother sent,’ Carryl said, as the two boys eyed each other without speaking. ‘You can have one each. Go along!’

His shyness forgotten, Pieter dashed to the back of the lobby, threw open a door marked ‘No Entry’, and beckoned wildly to Zak. ‘Cakes!’ he yelled. ‘Come see! An’ then I’ll show you the giant’s head-cutter Carryl found, from the olden days!’

Zak followed slowly, making it clear that he was the older of the two, and that neither sweetcakes nor head-cutters were of particular interest to him.

‘Pieter’s my youngest grandson,’ Carryl said, stripping off her gloves and ushering Keelin into a large, echoing room where cracked bowls, broken daggers and other sad objects were ranged on sagging shelves. ‘He spends a lot of time here with me—he likes old things and old tales. The others tease him because he’s small for his age, but I tell him he’ll likely shoot up in time like I did and be bigger than any of them one day. Now …’

She closed the door and turned her sharp blue gaze on her companion.

‘So you’re the one who saved Zak—the one who’s lost his memory. You look as if you should still be in bed! Why did Farr send you instead of coming himself? What’s happened?’

Keelin told her. The corners of her mouth tightened.

‘First Zak, now Janna,’ she muttered. ‘By the stars, how much more can Farr take before he cracks and lets the council have its way? I’ve got to work faster. But how can I? I’m here twenty-four hours a day as it is! If only I could get more help!’

She grimaced at Keelin’s expression.

‘Don’t think I don’t care about Janna. I care, all right. But I’ve lived a long time and I’ve learned to put feelings aside when I have to. And for now there’s nothing more important than stopping Farr launching his attack when there’s another way.’

‘Another …?’

‘Another way, yes! I feel it! I know it! Here!’

She grabbed Keelin’s arm and dragged him back into the lobby and through the door marked ‘No Entry’. The two boys were standing at the far end of the cluttered workroom beyond, eating cake and arguing loudly.

‘It’s not a head-cutter!’ Zak was saying scornfully. ‘It’s just a rusty old tool like farmers use for cutting stalks to feed the hogs.’

‘A head-cutter!’ Pieter insisted.

‘Whatever it is, don’t touch it!’ Keelin shouted. He had no time to say more. The next moment Carryl had thrown back a curtain and hauled him through another doorway, into a room without windows.

Here all the central floorboards had been prised away, and a great black hole yawned, exuding the smell of ancient rock and sour, damp earth. Keelin felt a stab of panic.

‘Down there,’ the old woman cried, pointing into the stinking darkness. ‘That’s where the answer lies—the proof I need to convince Farr, to convince them all! The spirits tell me so!’

And at that moment, in terror, Keelin heard someone shouting in his mind—shouting the same words, over and over again.

Get out! Get out! Get out!

Then there was an explosion as loud as a hundred thunderclaps. For one wild moment Keelin thought the building had been struck by lightning, then he remembered that the sky had been clear. The ceiling above him fell. He dropped to his knees, covering his head. Shattered plaster rained down on him, great beams crashed around him. He heard Carryl scream and his blood ran cold.

The deafening roar faded away, but the old building was creaking and groaning ominously. The walls were shaking. Terrified wails were coming from the workroom.

‘Pieter,’ Carryl called feebly. ‘Zak …’

Keelin staggered to his feet and in a blink had reached the workroom.

The two boys were crouched together halfway to the door, plaster swirling like fine rain around them. Pieter had fallen. Zak was struggling to pull him up. Keelin seized them both, one in each arm, and sped them out of the workroom, through the lobby, and out into the air. How he moved with such speed he had no idea. He never gave the ring on his finger a single thought.

‘Zak, get Pieter away!’ he ordered, and plunged back for Carryl.

She was lying where he had left her, a vast beam across her chest, pinning her down.

‘Pieter …’ she murmured, as Keelin struggled to free her.

‘Outside. Safe. With Zak.’

Her eyes closed in relief. ‘Pocket,’ she croaked. ‘Book. For Farr. Then go. Go!’

There was a low rumbling sound. Straining timbers squeaked and cracked.

Get out! Get out! Get out!

‘I cannot—leave—you,’ Keelin gasped, struggling with the beam, refusing to listen to the voice screaming in his mind though his head felt as if it was bursting.

Carryl’s eyes fluttered open. They fixed him with a stern gaze. It seemed to him that the blue was already fading.

Sweat broke out on her forehead as with her one free hand she fumbled in the pocket of her overalls and pulled out a small book with a faded leather cover. Her cracked lips opened. The voice came, harsh with pain but full of authority.

‘I am finished. Save the book! Get it to Farr! Tell him to …’

And that was all. The words died on her lips as her brave heart gave up its struggle and her pain ended.

Shaking, Keelin pulled the book from the dead fingers. Turning to run, he looked down at the title, printed in gold on the front.

He stared at the title, transfixed.

It is going! GET OUT!

There was a groaning crash. The rumbling mounted to a roar. Clutching the book, Keelin took a single step towards the doorway. And then the floor gave way beneath his feet, and the world collapsed in on him.