CHAPTER FIFTEEN

There was no way out.

Lin flailed around, but all she felt was coarse, chafing fabric. It was a sack, she realized. A burlap sack big enough to fit her inside!

Something hit her shoulder and knocked her over. Down by her feet she spotted a glimmer of light that must be the opening. But even as Lin twisted around to reach it, it closed up with a hard tug.

Dust and fibers stuck in her throat, and her screams for help came out as stupid croaks. She could hardly hear them at all, her pulse pounded so loudly in her head. The sack opened up again, and Figenskar’s dusk-blue needle teeth appeared. “Easy now, little girl!”

He held her down and tied her hands tightly at the wrists. Then he brought out a wrinkled rag, spattered with some kind of dried-up, black ichor, and pushed it at Lin’s lips. It smelled sweet and cloying with a sting of liquor. Figenskar pinched her nose between two claws, and when she had to gasp for air, he jammed the rag into her mouth.

Cocking his head, he inspected his work. “What were you doing sneaking around in the chief chronicler’s home? Looking for signs of Isvan, hmmm? Did you find any?”

Lin glared at him.

“Cat caught your tongue? Don’t worry. You will have your chance to tell.” Figenskar’s grin grew wide and hard. “Oh yes, little Twistrose,” he murmured, pushing back Lin’s chaperon so he could study her face. “You may not think so now, but you will tell. Everyone sings before the Margrave!”

The Margrave! Lin made a mewling sound into the rag. Figenskar knew something about the soothsinger prophecy? His pleased expression was the last thing she saw before he closed the sack over her head.

The three steps of Teodor’s backyard stairs slammed mercilessly into Lin’s back. She was lifted onto something hard. Icy air seeped in through the weave of the burlap.

“We’re going for a little evening stroll,” Figenskar snarled next to her head. “But first I want you to know what will happen if you do any more squealing or squeaking or try to draw attention to yourself in any way. One night, when you are gone, I will pay a visit to Rufus’s grubby little den in Stitch Lane. He’s quick, I’ll give him that. But I am a Feline and a hunter. I can be quieter than the first light of dawn. I will bend over his pathetic sleeping pocket and take my time finding the weakest spot on his little Rodent neck. And with a simple snap . . . Pest control. Do you understand?”

Lin lay very still. She understood, but she couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t Teodor said that only creatures once loved by a child lived in Sylver? Who on Earth could have loved this dreadful cat?

The darkness deepened as a heavy cover was pulled over her body. Soon she heard the sound of snow beneath runners. A sled, then. Dread gathered into a lump in Lin’s throat. How would Rufus ever be able to track her down if there were no footprints in the snow? Come to think of it, how would he even know where to begin his search?

They moved fast, always uphill. Lin listened to the creaking of Figenskar’s boots in the snow, trying to guess where he was taking her. Several times she heard voices, but none close enough to be of any good to her. But at last someone called out, not far from the sled. “Figenskar!”

Lin knew that curt voice! It was Lass the gatherer. The sled and the footsteps stopped.

“Evening stroll, Figenskar?” the Canine said. She was very close now. Lin could hear her loll-tongued breaths right above her head.

“Stroll, yes,” Figenskar said smoothly. “What can I do for you, Gatherer?”

“I have gatherloot for Ursa Minor, but he has managed to fall off the map on his way to the Machine Vault. Have you seen him?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I went to the vault. They were cleaning up after some sort of accident. I thought for sure it was Minor’s doing, but Nit said he never showed up.”

“You don’t say,” Figenskar said.

“And that’s not the only strange thing that has happened, either. I had a chat with Ronia at the Bowl and Biscuit. She told me that two different customers had seen a blue flash coming from old Teodor’s turret a little while ago. And afterward he came running out of the house, staring toward the mountains like he had seen a Nightmare. And he got on his horse and galloped off toward the woods!”

Figenskar didn’t answer. His tail lashed against the sled.

Inside the sack, Lin’s heart pounded. What would happen if she called for help? Lass would hear, even through the rag. But Figenskar knew where Rufus lived. Had been there, even, since he knew about the sleeping pocket. And he had promised to kill Rufus if she didn’t keep quiet. No, she couldn’t risk it.

Lass yawned. “Well. I’d best keep looking. See you in the Square.” The snow groaned under her feet as she turned to leave. But abruptly she stopped and snorted. “What’s this you’ve got on your sled, anyway? I could help you get it up the hill if you want. It’s a mighty climb to the Observatory.”

Something brushed against Lin’s foot, and the heavy cover lifted ever so slightly. A pale sliver of light shone through the burlap somewhere by her left knee, and for a moment Lin thought she would be saved. But Figenskar briskly tugged the cover tight.

“A surprise,” he purred. “For Wanderer’s Eve. I’d best take care of it myself, hmmm?”

Lass hesitated another moment, but she said good-bye and hurried off.

Figenskar hissed softly. “Well done, little Rosenquist, for not squealing. You must like your Rodent more than he deserves.” He walked in silence for a little while before he added: “You can’t imagine my delight in finding you here this evening. You just might save both my deal and my tail. I’m sure the Margrave will find you to his liking. After all, you and he have much in common. You are kin, hmmm?”

Lin flinched. It had just dawned on her that the Margrave Figenskar spoke of was not at all the Wanderer called by a different name, but a person. And by the strain in Figenskar’s voice, the Feline was scared of him.

“Oh, you don’t think so?” Figenskar’s laugh had a brittle ring. “Well, you shall see for yourself before long.”

Lin didn’t respond, but in the darkness of the burlap sack, she wondered. See what? How could anyone in Sylver be her kin?

The air changed. It was crisper, no longer laced with woodsmoke. Lin chewed over Figenskar’s hints about the Margrave, but without more information, she couldn’t make them fit. Instead she turned her thoughts to a detail she could make use of. Light had shone through the burlap when Lass lifted the cover. Lin may not be able to run without risking Rufus’s life, but there was a tear in the sack, and that changed everything.

She felt around with her bound hands until she discovered the hole. It was small, but it would do. Inch by inch, she pulled the chewed, old drawstring out of her cardigan collar and tied a double knot. The troll-hunter signal for “I am here.” Holding her breath, she pushed the green string through the tear. There were creaky steps and sliding runners and her pulse whooshing in her ears, but no sign that Figenskar had noticed. Now all she could do was hope that Rufus would find her message.

They stopped. Lin thought they must be close to something massive, because she felt it brooding over her, at once sound-stealing and full of faint echoes. A door creaked open. Figenskar dragged her off the sled and across two thresholds before he dropped the sack to the floor with a snicker. “Success.”

Lin could tell from the silkiness of that one word that there was someone in the room with them.

“Success? The boss has found the Winterfyrst?” The stranger had a brassy, blaring voice.

“No. But I have caught the Twistrose instead, and I think she will do quite nicely. Cold child, warm child, the difference is not great. Did you perform your little task?”

“Little task,” the blaring voice said. “Yes. It’s cracked now. Dead and destroyed.”

“Excellent,” Figenskar said. “I shall finish the last one myself later tonight. Teriko, my good lieutenant. You may ready the casks and burn the evidence. Operation Corvelie is back on track.”

“Back on track!” said the one named Teriko. “You’re a genius, boss!”

“The Sylverings will never know what hit them,” Figenskar said smugly. “And as for this little bareskin . . .” He nudged Lin with the toe of his boot. “. . . she can ripen while we finish our preparations. Put her in the cage.”

“The cage? Right you are, boss. She’ll sit pretty there,” the stranger cackled.

“Remember, little Rosenquist,” the cat purred in Lin’s ear, “you’re caught, like a worm on a fishhook, and you can spare yourself any wiggling, hmmm? This is the Observatory. You’re in my house now.”

• • •

Lin was hauled off again, this time in violent jerks, down a long flight of stairs, and along a pebbly tunnel. By the time they stopped again, she hurt all over. She heard a jangle of keys, followed by a rasping click that echoed off the walls.

The sack opened, and as Lin struggled free of the burlap, metal banged against metal. She sat up, blinking.

She was trapped inside a cage inside a cave. Smoking torches lit the bottom, which was soiled like a neglected barn floor and reeked even worse. Tree-trunk perches covered in dirt and old feathers crisscrossed the cage, and in the middle hung a fat, rusty chain that ended about twenty feet above the ground. Fastened to the chain with a thick rope was the only clean object in the entire cave: a large, gleaming mirror.

Right in front of Lin there was a door of metal bars, and from outside it, a perfectly round eye stared at her. It sat next to a flat, strong beak that curved viciously at the end, surrounded by shiny feathers in deep blue, green, and yellow. Figenskar’s lieutenant was a parrot.

“What a lucky little girl!” the parrot cawed. “Not everyone gets to borrow Teriko’s home sweet home.” He poked a claw through the bars. Lin scrambled away.

“Now, now, bareskin. Teriko will unstuff her mouth. Or does she like the taste of rag?”

Scalp prickling, Lin allowed the bird to pick the rag out of her mouth. She lifted her bound hands to her jaw, coughing and spitting. The parrot turned his back and hopped toward the craggy archway that led out of the cave.

“Wait!” Lin said hoarsely. “Don’t leave me here! I have to finish my task!”

Teriko turned one unblinking eye toward her and gaped wide and high. “Task! Stupid little task!”

“But it’s important! I’m a Twistrose! Rufus knows, ask him! Or ask Teodor!”

“Teodor,” the bird spat. And with that he left, hop, scrape, hop, scrape, sweeping gravel with his tail feathers.

Lin kicked on the cage bars and yelled after him, “Sylver is in danger. You have to let me out!” But the only answer she got was the slamming of a heavy door in the distance.

Her legs buckled. She couldn’t bear lying down on the muck-encrusted floor. Instead she sank down on her haunches and hid her face in her throbbing hands.

Rufus would never find her, not in this wretched dungeon. Nobody knew where she was, except for a malicious Feline and a gloating parrot. Nobody knew where Isvan was, either. There would be no statue in her name. She would never see Summerhill or her parents again. Instead she would see the Margrave, who had taken his name from a star, and who scared even Figenskar.

“I’m sorry,” Lin whispered, and she was. She was sorry she had left without telling Rufus. She was sorry she had been so cross about moving to Oldtown. But most of all, she was so very sorry that she hadn’t stayed to taste her mother’s rice pudding.