35 
Ottilie drew her cutlass. Maeve scrambled out of bed. She was unarmed but positioned herself in front of Bill all the same. Whistler was the witch. She had been inside the grounds all this time. Now that she was unveiled, what would she do? Ottilie’s thoughts flew to Gully. Where was he? If Whistler went on a rampage, would he be in danger? She thought he might be on a hunt, but she couldn’t remember.
‘Bill, is it?’ said Whistler with a birdlike croon.
No-one answered her.
‘What do you know?’ she asked, cocking her head.
‘A girl with a bent hand … a witch … when you were very young, you used to scare people. And hurt them,’ said Bill, as if the words scraped his throat.
‘Hardly fair, Bill.’ Whistler flicked back her sleeve to reveal a gnarled hand, bent out of shape, with a thumb significantly smaller than its left twin. ‘How much of the story do you know?’
‘Pieces, all jumbled up,’ said Bill.
Whistler caught Ottilie staring at her hand. ‘It wasn’t always this bad. My wrist was bent and my thumb was too small, but my father tried to have it fixed. Now it’s a claw.’
‘Unlock the door,’ Ottilie said in response.
‘I gave you a clue, you know,’ Whistler said, flinging her sleeve back over her hand. ‘The night you stole my book. I gave you his name.’
‘What do you mean, his name? Whose name?’ Ottilie tried to calm herself, struggling to think.
‘You wanted to know what all this is about.’ Whistler waved her arms in the air. ‘Why everything’s happening. Where they all came from.’
‘A witch,’ said Ottilie. ‘We figured that out without your clue.’
Whistler laughed. ‘A witch! Yes, yes, a witch! A horrible, terrible, wicked witch setting the dredretches upon you, very good. Fairly obvious, though, piglet.’
‘Piglet?’
‘Pigs are smart. Pigs are tough. Take a compliment when it’s given. Now prove me right, clever girl. What name did I give you?’
Ottilie strained her mind. Whistler had only given them one thing, a book … ‘Sol,’ said Ottilie. ‘The name of the royal family.’
‘Fennix Sol,’ said Bill, dizzily, as if he had just remembered something.
‘Indeed,’ said Whistler.
‘Who …’ said Ottilie.
‘My name,’ said Whistler. ‘When I was a girl. That was my name.’
‘You’re of the royal line?’ said Maeve, her eyes darting to the window.
‘I am,’ said Whistler, her mouth tipping down, as if the answer tasted bad. ‘But that’s not why I gave it. You wanted to know why the dredretches are here? Who made up the rule of innocence? I gave you a clue. When I say the name Sol, who do you think of?’
Ottilie ran through the royals she knew. Seika Devil-Slayer, the princess who felled the fendevil, and Viago the Vanquisher, who broke the promise – both long dead – and Varrio Sol, the current king, the creator of the Narroway Hunt.
‘The king,’ said Maeve, simply.
Ottilie shook her head. ‘The king didn’t raise the dredretches. He doesn’t control them. He’s not a witch.’ Whistler was talking nonsense.
‘How do you know?’ said Whistler.
For a second Ottilie didn’t have an answer. But finally, she said, ‘Because Bill wanted to warn me about you. We saw you binding Gracie to the wylers. You turned that wyler into her bloodbeast. And I saw you the day the kappabak nearly killed me and Leo, and the day the yickers attacked in Floodwood.’
‘I was testing you,’ she said.
Ottilie choked on air. ‘Testing me? Why?’
‘Because I knew you were a potential candidate from the first. You’re a fascinating little hatchling. You snuck in here, fooling everyone – not me, of course, but I was eager to see how it would play out, and I am thorough in my research. Did I set some nasty obstacles for you? Yes. But they made you stronger. They made you stay.’
All Ottilie could see was Floodwood – Christopher Crow sprawled on the ground, Leo resting a hand over the hole in his chest. ‘What do you mean, a candidate? Why did you want me to stay?’
‘I just told you. You’re fascinating. I wanted to see what you’re made of. I’m a champion of fascinating people. That’s why I chose Gracie.’
‘Gracie’s not fascinating, she’s evil,’ spat Ottilie. ‘I’m nothing like her.’
‘Of course not. Everyone’s different. But you can come with me if you like.’
‘What?’ said Ottilie, genuinely surprised.
‘Well, the jig is up. I’ll be leaving in a moment. It’s about time, too. I told him thirty years – three decades that battle-happy buffoon couldn’t send out his men. It’s time to give the king back his toy soldiers. He’ll be over the moon. War is his favourite thing, and what a war we’ll have.’
‘What do you mean, war?’ said Ottilie, her voice thinning with every word.
‘As I said. You can come. Maeve as well.’ Her birdlike eyes fixed on Maeve. ‘You’re an intriguing thing. Gracie already offered, of course. We were hoping you would say yes, but look, another chance – best take it.’ She snatched at the air with her sleeve.
‘We’re not going anywhere with you,’ said Maeve.
‘Pity.’ Whistler cocked her head. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t let you keep the goedl. I like to be in control of the clues, see, and goedls tend to know just a bit too much.’
Ottilie fired an arrow at Whistler without a thought. Whistler waved her hand and turned it to ash. She didn’t have time to marvel at it, because Whistler grabbed Bill by the wrist. Ottilie and Maeve both lunged at her, but Whistler flicked her sleeve and knocked them down with a gust of wind.
The bolted door flew open and Whistler marched Bill out into the lavender fields. Ottilie and Maeve stumbled to their feet and scrambled after her but it was too late. There was a terrible shriek, which seemed to be coming from somewhere inside Whistler. Her hair stood on end, mouth stretched wide, and she transformed into a great winged creature. She was like a dredretch, but not quite. Her beak was hooked and needle sharp. Her grey eyes darkened to thundercloud black and her feathers were all the colours of a storm.
She launched into the air, Bill’s long pale arm clasped firmly in her talons, and soared out over the boundary wall, rolling and sweeping, dodging arrows from the wall and disappearing into the Narroway.