29 
In the wake of Gracie’s flight, the atmosphere had never been tenser. No-one seemed to disbelieve her story. They all considered Gracie the sole witch, and Maeve wrongfully convicted. The pair were close friends after all; their beds were next to each other. It was generally understood that the book and the bones belonged to Gracie, not Maeve.
Gully, everyone decided, had been lying to protect someone he considered to be innocent. He was punished for it too, given three weeks of singer duty – no hunts, no patrols, not even wall watch – leaving him with very little opportunity to earn points.
As a consequence, he slipped from top position in the fledgling rankings to fourth place, behind Preddy, Ross Nest from Richter and Murphy Graves from Arko, who rose to first.
They were fast approaching the end of their fledgling year. On the final day of winter, now only two weeks away, the scores would be fixed, and the new champions named.
Ottilie remembered how important she had thought it was to earn points, to be champion, but she had barely had a second to think about it over the last few weeks. Anyway, she was proud of her performance this year. She had made a remarkable leap since they’d put her in last place at summer’s end, now hovering just outside the top twenty, at twenty-third. But the level of difficulty had increased. She’d made fast progress over the underperforming fledglings, but once she reached the top thirty, her advancement slowed. The fledges around her were scoring high on every shift and Ottilie found it difficult to claw her way past them. She would have liked to crack twenty by winter’s end, but she supposed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to make a difference to anything.
‘You shouldn’t look at it that way, Ottilie,’ said Ramona, holding out a fish for Hero. She and Ottilie were preparing for that night’s training session. ‘Performing well might not change their minds, but underperforming hurts our cause.’
Gully and Ned would be arriving soon to help. Since the last wyler attack, their hunt shifts had increased, and Ottilie had spent most of her limited spare time with Bill. He had done so much for her – she couldn’t bear leaving him all alone down in the wingerslink sanctuary, and she lived in fear of him forgetting himself and wandering off somewhere she couldn’t find him.
So she had hardly seen Gully or Ned in the past week, apart from the brief moment she’d found to introduce Gully to Bill. She still smiled at the memory of Gully hugging Bill so tight that he was pulled off his webbed feet, thanking him for helping Ottilie track the pickers.
Hero lifted her head and regarded them with a blissful expression. It rapidly changed to hungry, and dangerous, as Ramona drew out another fish. She tossed it to the leopard, who caught it easily in her jaws.
‘That’s the last –’ Ramona froze and reached for her knife. ‘Get behind me,’ she said to Ottilie.
Ottilie grabbed the nearest untipped spear. ‘What is it?’ She hadn’t sensed anything amiss. ‘I can’t see anything.’ Ottilie looked to Hero – the leopard was happily gobbling up the fish and didn’t seem to think anything was wrong.
‘There’s someone on the roof of the barn,’ said Ramona, her eyes fixed on a shadow.
‘Oh, Bill!’ said Ottilie, with an amused sigh. ‘What are you doing up there? I told you to stay in the lower grounds! It’s not safe here.’
Bill crept forward, climbed cautiously down a splintering beam, and approached with his arms held aloft in surrender.
‘This is just Bill,’ she said. ‘He’s from the Brakkerswamp, like me. He likes to lurk.’
Ramona didn’t seem to know what to make of him. ‘Ottilie, he really shouldn’t be here,’ she said, gazing at him with interest.
‘Please don’t report it. He’s harmless … just think of him like any of the animals here – like the red goose that lives by the frog pond.’
‘That goose is a menace,’ said Ramona, with a frown. ‘I won’t report it. But you need to keep out of sight, Bill.’ She stared at him as if she’d just discovered an entirely new species.
He nodded and Ottilie breathed a sigh of relief. ‘There’ll be people here any second,’ she said. ‘Go back to the lower grounds. I’ll come visit tomorrow morning.’ ‘I just … I remembered, Ottilie,’ said Bill, lifting his feet one after the other, like a cat testing the ground.
‘You what?’ Ottilie felt the heat rising up her neck. ‘You remembered the warning?’ Gracie, the bloodbeasts, she thought, the Withering Wood …
Bill nodded. ‘A girl, a fair-haired girl, she’s behind it all, she’s doing bad things.’
Ottilie could have laughed. ‘Thank you, but you’re nearly a month too late.’
The trapdoor creaked open.
‘Quick, Bill, hide!’ Ottilie hissed, but too slow.
Her shoulders relaxed. It was just Alba and Skip. Skip had already met Bill. She had always so loved the story of Ottilie’s journey to the Narroway – Bill was a legend in her eyes.
Alba approached with wonder in her gaze. ‘Is this Bill? I thought he was a boy. Ottilie, you never said he was a goedl!’
‘I didn’t know,’ she said, looking Bill up and down. ‘What’s a goedl?’ The word was strange; it stuck in her throat.
‘They’re so rare!’ said Alba. ‘And very special.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Bill.’
Bill didn’t appear to understand a handshake. It wasn’t a gesture he would have witnessed around the Swamp Hollows. Alba clasped his pale hand in hers as he stared down in interest, watching her shake it.
‘Goedls are the longest-living creatures in the world,’ said Alba, clearly unable to contain the information. ‘They’re astoundingly intelligent, and they all look different. They adapt to their environment and have amazing camouflage abilities … see, Bill here made himself look like a person, because he was living in the Swamp Hollows, near people! And see his webbed feet … for the swamp waters … and you said he was good at climbing.’
‘And I bend,’ said Bill, helpfully.
‘To fit into small crevices and tunnels around the caves!’ Alba was so excited her braids were flipping and flying as she talked.
‘But if they all look different, how did you know he was one?’ said Skip.
‘The horns. It’s one of their few defining features,’ said Alba. ‘And it shows their age. Bill’s are quite blunt. They get thinner and sharper as they get older, so he’s probably only …’ She chewed her lip, thinking. ‘Maybe a bit over a hundred.’
‘A hundred!’ said Ottilie. She couldn’t believe it.
‘No wonder he has trouble remembering things!’ said Skip.
‘No, no,’ said Alba in frustration. ‘No, a hundred is young. He has trouble remembering things because he’s young! This is the best part!’ she squeaked. ‘Goedls, they’re solitary – no-one knows how many there are out there. But they … they’ve got a … a collective consciousness.’
‘Oh,’ said Ramona, her eyes alight.
‘A what?’ said Skip.
Ottilie didn’t understand either.
‘Their minds are linked,’ said Alba. ‘They can share thoughts and images and memories. That’s why Bill can’t keep things straight – he’s got countless memories swirling around in his mind. It takes them a good couple of centuries to gain some control over it. Until then, their memories are a little bit scrambled. He’ll get much better at hiding, too, once he gets older. That’s why you’ve caught him a few times, when he comes close, because he’s still learning. Sorry, Bill!’ she said, aghast. ‘I’m talking about you like you’re not even here!’ Her cheeks warmed.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s very interesting. I’m glad to know it.’
Ottilie was stunned. She had no idea. She just thought Bill was a bit odd.
‘This is very rare, though, Ottilie, Bill forming this bond with you, this friendship. I think it’s helping his own memories stay at the forefront. You’re like a tether for him, a tether to his own experience. I’ve only ever heard of goedls forming bonds with birds.’
‘He does that too,’ said Ottilie, with a smile. ‘Bill, you better hide. The others will be here any second.’
Since the incident on the road, there had been no sign of Gracie Moravec. The other stations had been alerted and new rules were imposed. Footmen and mounts were no longer scheduled to hunt or patrol in groups smaller than three. Flyers were still permitted their solitary hunts, as they had the option of escaping into the air if Gracie and the wylers attacked.
While Gully was restricted to singer duty, Scoot had taken his place as Ned’s fledge, but now that his sentence was over, Ned offered to be guardian to both. Considering the hunting year was almost over, the directorate permitted it. Although, taking on two fledges would not help Ned creep up from eighth position, where he currently resided.
A new duty was added to their schedule: hunting Gracie Moravec. They called the task ‘witching’, and the wranglers had updated their training. Now they were learning to bring down not only dredretches, but people too.
The huntsmen had always opposed each other during training, but that was to master footwork and tricky manoeuvres. Sparring had been a novelty, but now it was serious. Wrangler Morse had told them where to aim their arrows on a hundred different dredretches. Now, he was talking about where to aim on a person. Dredretches weren’t natural creatures, they were soulless, evil. They couldn’t be killed. They could be brought down, destroyed, felled. But Gracie was a person. It was different.
Ottilie had promised to visit Bill in the wingerslink sanctuary before breakfast. His presence was another thing to conceal, and she was beginning to feel heavy with the weight of secrets and lies. It looked as if her fledgling year would end as it had begun.
She was surprised to find Bill in the pen belonging to Igor Thrike’s russet wingerslink, Malleus. Even more surprising was the image of Bill happily filing away at Malleaus’s bone-cleaving claws.
‘Good morning.’ Bill hummed as he wandered over to fill Malleus’s drinking trough.
‘What are you doing?’ said Ottilie, eyeing Malleus with distrust, not just because he was Igor’s wingerslink, but because Maestro and Malleus didn’t get on.
‘I’m looking after them,’ said Bill.
‘We … they’re already looked after,’ she said, with a laugh.
‘I’m helping.’
She didn’t think she had ever seen him so calm.
‘Bill!’ someone called.
Ottilie whipped around.
‘I’ve had an idea.’ It was Maeve’s voice, and in a moment she skipped into view. ‘Oh, hello, Ottilie,’ she said, almost cheerfully.
Maeve had been much more civil towards her since she had confessed her secret, even bordering on friendly at times. She had assumed it was because she was keeping her mouth shut, or because deep down Maeve really was grateful that Ottilie had ridden out to free her. But now she wondered if it perhaps had something to do with Bill.
‘What are you doing down here?’ said Ottilie. This was shaping up to be a very odd morning.
‘Visiting Bill,’ said Maeve.
‘Visiting … you’ve been visit– she’s been visiting?’ said Ottilie, feeling a clutch of possessiveness.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Maeve, her eyes bright. ‘I know how we can find out – even see – what happened with Gracie and that first attack. We might even be able to find out how she let the wyler in, and how she healed herself.’
‘Using magic, I thought.’ Ottilie leaned against Malleus’s pen, ignoring his threatening growl.
‘Well, that’s what I want to find out,’ said Maeve eagerly. ‘A bite that bad, the venom would have gone straight to her blood – she should have died. But she didn’t. If she did heal herself with some sort of magic, maybe I can learn it and use it to help if there’s another attack!’
Ottilie stood bolt upright. That thought had never occurred to her. ‘How? How can we see what she did?’
‘Because Bill can talk to birds!’ said Maeve.
‘So?’
‘They show him things when he makes contact with them,’ she said, leaping onto a crate. ‘It’s what he did to me.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Bill has this really open mind. I can sense it. There’s no defences around him like people have, and birds are … like Bill says, birds are chatty. I was thinking and … my memories, when I’m changed, I see so much. Birds see everything! They’re everywhere, and they talk to each other.’ Maeve flung her arms around wildly as she spoke. ‘What I was thinking was, maybe Bill could ask the birds if any of them saw what happened with Gracie. If they can show him, then he can show me, and then I can show you if you like. I think I could do that.’
‘Do it,’ said Ottilie, her pulse quickening. ‘Let’s do it. Bill? Can you do that? Bill? What are you doing?’
Bill was standing perfectly still with one eye closed and an arm stretched out to the side. ‘They’re sending the swamp harrier.’
‘You already asked them?’ said Ottilie, in awe. ‘I didn’t realise when you talked to birds you could do it inside your head. I thought you, you know, whistled at them.’
‘I think all sorts of wonderful things go on inside his head,’ said Maeve, stepping off the crate to stand by Bill.
Ottilie had never heard such warmth in her voice. ‘Why is your arm out like that?’ she asked, wondering if it was some sort of signal to the birds.
‘That’s just where I left it,’ said Bill, lowering it. He sat down on the floor with his head under the open window. The sunlight streamed in above, dusting him with silver. Maeve sat beside him and ushered Ottilie over to sit by her.
A huge tawny swamp harrier soared in through the window, circled and settled neatly on top of Bill’s head. The beat of its wings swept cool air across Ottilie’s skin. Bill didn’t appear to mind the weight of the large bird, or its needle-sharp talons resting over his skull. He reached out furtively, his finger stretching towards Maeve’s temple. Maeve swatted his arm away and snatched his hand in her own, offering her other hand to Ottilie.
There they sat, all in a row, under a veil of silvery winter sunlight. Ottilie glanced sideways. Maeve and Bill had both closed their eyes. She wondered if it was really safe to let Maeve Moth into her mind, but her curiosity won out and, with only a hint of apprehension, she slid her eyes closed.
First there was only soft warm light, and then an image surfaced. Gracie unconscious in the infirmary, white as the sheets that sheltered her, and a hooded figure standing above her bed.