21 
Gracie Moravec reached for Ottilie’s plate.
‘Finished with this?’ she asked sweetly. The sculkies didn’t usually clear plates until after the huntsmen left the table. Gracie seemed to know she unsettled Ottilie – and enjoyed doing it. ‘Will you be there tonight, Captain?’
‘Really,’ said Ottilie flatly. ‘Captain? Not Shovels?’
‘I never called you Shovels.’
‘To my face,’ said Ottilie. ‘I’m not your captain.’
‘Sure you are. Captain Colter, commander of the sculkie army,’ she said with a cat’s smile.
Ottilie didn’t understand the joke. Gracie herself was a sculkie, and she had never missed a training session. She was mocking herself.
‘What do you want, Gracie?’
‘Your plate,’ she said with a tinkling laugh.
Ottilie realised she was still holding on to it. Releasing it, she said, ‘Where’s Maeve?’ She watched closely for a reaction.
‘She’s assigned to the library today.’ Gracie calmly took the plate and turned away.
‘What was that about?’ said Gully, approaching with a pitcher of apple juice. Gully rarely ate at breakfast time.
‘Skip’s right. We can’t trust her,’ said Ottilie, staring at the back of Gracie’s head. Her pale tresses seemed to float a little off her shoulders, just as her feet seemed to float a little from the ground. There had always been something spectral about her.
‘But she already knows about everything,’ said Gully, with a shrug. ‘And she’s been coming along. She’s good too, have you seen her with a knife?’
She watched Gracie drifting away. She had that knife on her somewhere, concealed in her uniform. Ottilie had thought it such a good idea to arm them all, give them weapons to use against the dredretches, but knives could cut people too, and knowing that Gracie Moravec was carrying one around made Ottilie very nervous.
Ottilie and Gully were on their way to the arena for warding when she got a strange feeling and slowed.
‘What?’ Gully turned back towards her.
‘I just want to check on something.’ She started jogging towards the library. It had been bothering her since breakfast – Ottilie hadn’t laid eyes on Maeve in a week. She wanted to see for herself that she was unharmed.
Gully caught up with her. ‘We’ll be late,’ he said, somewhat gleefully.
They descended the stairway into the library and looped through the stacks.
‘What are we looking for?’ said Gully.
‘Maeve,’ said Ottilie, offering no further explanation.
They rounded the corner and Ottilie saw two legs stretched out on the ground, illuminated by a lantern.
‘Maeve,’ she said in a carrying whisper.
‘What? Ottilie?’ The girl got to her feet, holding the lantern aloft. It wasn’t Maeve. It was Alba.
‘What are you two doing here?’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘I was just about to come and find you. I found something in here – about dredretches!’ She held the green book into the light.
‘What is that?’ Gully reached for the book.
‘A book about witches. Careful, it’s old.’
‘I don’t think you should be reading this here, Alba,’ said Gully, his brow furrowed. ‘You don’t want to get caught with a witch book.’
Ottilie stared at him. Listening to Gully advise someone to be cautious was very strange. ‘What did you read?’ she asked.
‘Well, for starters, witches were experimenting with salt weapons long before the Narroway Hunt ever existed, even before the Lakland War! After Seika Devil-Slayer defeated the fendevil the witches starting investigating how she did it, and that was how they found out about salt – but most of their knowledge was lost in the witch purge.’
‘The witch purge?’ said Gully.
‘When the Roving Empire had control of the Usklers they hunted all the witches,’ said Alba, speaking so quickly Ottilie was impressed the words were clear.
‘Is there anything in there about how she defeated the fendevil?’ said Ottilie.
‘Not that I’ve found,’ said Alba, chewing her lip. ‘But there is an explanation of what dredretches are – where they come from. It says that they’re creatures from down below, from the underworld, and that evil – acts of violence or when people do bad things – sings to them, calling them to the surface, guiding their way up.’
Ottilie had heard that before, from Old Moss or Mr Parch, she wasn’t sure which. She imagined a kappabak bursting through the stone floor beneath her feet. ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked, blinking away the horror. ‘Why are they talking about dredretches in a book about witches?’
‘Because,’ said Alba, ‘the book says dredretches can be summoned and even controlled by a witch!’
She knew it! This was what she had suspected all along.
‘But the book condemns it,’ said Alba. ‘Says it corrupts witches’ spirits and infects their power. Witchcraft is supposed to be a natural art – but this sort of thing destroys them, makes them less alive, less human – and more powerful.’
Ottilie’s breath grew short. The confirmation that one person was responsible for all this horror was devastating. ‘Do you think that the dredretches in the Laklands – that a witch brought them there?’ she asked, hoping the answer was no.
Alba swallowed. ‘After everything we’ve learned, and talking to Whistler, that story about the broken promise, I think the dredretches came to the Laklands because of all the terrible things that happened in the war. But since then, in the Narroway, I don’t know …’
Gully gripped Ottilie’s wrist.
She turned to him. His eyes were cold, serious. He was warning her not to react. She skimmed the space discreetly, listening hard. Alba didn’t seem to have noticed anything, but Ottilie sensed it: someone was nearby – spying.
She heard soft footsteps, someone carefully backing away. She glanced at Gully. He nodded, and they both dashed in opposite directions, looping around the aisle, trapping the spy between them.
Ottilie got there first.
‘Get off me,’ Maeve hissed.
Ottilie pulled her into the light.
Maeve looked truly terrible. Her hands shook as she shoved Ottilie away. She looked so frail that Ottilie released her, scared of breaking her.
‘Maeve, are you all right?’ she asked, forgetting about the spying.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Gully.
‘I’m fine,’ Maeve snapped. ‘Better before you manhandled me!’ She glared at Ottilie.
Several books slid back from the shelf next to them and Alba’s face appeared in the gap. ‘Why were you listening to us?’ she demanded.
‘I wasn’t listening to you. I was dusting,’ she said, lamely raising her feather duster and sweeping it over a row of books. ‘I’m working in here today.’ Her tone was not at all convincing.
‘You were listening,’ said Gully.
The nearest lantern sputtered and sparked. Maeve recoiled and dropped the feather duster, her eyes wide. Then, so slightly that Ottilie couldn’t be sure it was happening, the air around them shifted, like a cool breeze through a window. She thought she glimpsed a swirl of dust sweep by the lantern.
‘We shouldn’t be gathered here like this,’ said Maeve, her voice hoarse. ‘If they catch us it will look suspicious. So, unless you’re going to chain me to the shelf, I’m leaving.’
As she hurried away, Ottilie noticed a dark feather sticking out of her matted hair.
‘She’s right,’ she said. ‘And Gully’s right, Alba – don’t read that book anywhere you can get caught.’
For Alba’s sake, Ottilie didn’t want to be seen with her. So she and Gully left the library first.
‘Did you see the lantern?’ said Gully, sounding more excited than alarmed. ‘And the tapestry … you don’t think –’ He didn’t leave a moment for her to answer. ‘If I had to pick anyone to be a witch, it would be her.’
Ottilie knew what he meant, but it didn’t seem possible. Maeve a witch? Controlling the dredretches? Summoning the kappabak – the monster that had nearly killed Leo? Maeve had always seemed to like Leo well enough. Ottilie couldn’t imagine her wanting to hurt him. And the wyler in the sculkie quarters – it had killed Joely Wrecker and bitten Maeve’s best friend. Maeve had been so angry about it; she wanted to learn to fight. It didn’t make sense.