Sam slowly lowered his sword and sighed in exasperation. It clearly was Mogget. Sam just wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not that the cat had returned. He kept remembering that gloating chuckle in the tunnel below the House, and the stench and dazzle of Free Magic. . . .
Ice cracked. Sam whirled about again, his heart hammering. With the cracking of the ice, he heard the echo of a distant bell. So distant it might have been a memory, or an imagined sound.
More ice cracked, and Lirael fell to one knee, ice flaking off her like a miniature snowstorm. Then there was a bright flash, and the Dog appeared, jumping around anxiously and growling deep in her chest.
“What happened?” asked Sam. “Are you hurt?”
“Not really,” said Lirael, with a grimace that showed there was something wrong, and she held up her left wrist. “Some horrible little Fifth Gate Rester tried to bite my arm. But it didn’t get through the coat—it’s only bruised.”
“What did you do to it?” asked Sam. The Dog was still running around as if the Dead creature might suddenly appear.
“The Dog bit it in half,” said Lirael, forcing herself to take several long, slow breaths. “Though that didn’t stop it. But I made it obey me in the end. It’s on its way to the Ninth Gate—and it won’t be coming back.”
“You really are the Abhorsen-in-Waiting now,” said Sam, admiration showing in his voice.
“I guess I am,” replied Lirael slowly. She felt as if she’d claimed something when she’d announced herself as such in Death. And lost something, too. It was one thing to take up the bells at the House. It was another to actually use the bells in Death. Her old life seemed so far away now. Gone forever, and she did not yet know what her new life would be, or even what she was. She felt uncomfortable in her own skin, and it had nothing to do with the melting ice, or the rain and mud.
“I can smell something,” announced the Dog.
Lirael looked up and for the first time noticed that Sam was much muddier than he had been, and was bleeding from a scratch across the back of his hand, though he didn’t appear to have noticed it.
“What happened to you?” she asked sharply.
“Mogget came back,” replied Sam. “At least I think it’s Mogget. He’s in my pack. Only at first he was a sort of really short albino man and I thought he was an enemy—”
He stopped talking as the Dog prowled over to his pack and sniffed at it. A white paw flashed out, and the Dog jerked back just in time to avoid a clawed nose. She settled back on her haunches, and her forehead furrowed in puzzlement.
“It is the Mogget,” she confirmed. “But I don’t understand—”
“She gave me what she chooses to call another chance,” said a voice from inside the pack. “More than you’ve ever done.”
“Another chance at what?” growled the Dog. “This is no time for your games! Do you know what is being dug up four leagues from here?”
Mogget thrust his head out of the pack. Ranna jangled, sending a wave of weariness across all who heard the bell.
“I know!” spat the little cat. “I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. It is the Destroyer! The Unmaker! The Unraveler—”
Mogget paused for breath. Just as he was about to speak again, the Dog suddenly barked, a short, sharp bark infused with power. Mogget yowled as if his tail had been trodden on and sank hissing back into the pack.
“Do not speak Its name,” ordered the Dog. “Not in anger, not when we are so close.”
Mogget was silent. Lirael, Sam, and the Dog looked at the pack.
“We have to get away from here.” Lirael sighed, wiping the most recent raindrops off her forehead before they could get into her eyes. “But first I want to get something straight.”
She approached Sam’s pack and leaned over it, careful to stay out of striking distance of a paw.
“Mogget. You are still bound to be a servant of the Abhorsens, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” came the grudging reply. “Worse luck.”
“So you will help me, help us, won’t you?”
There was no answer.
“I’ll find you some fish,” interjected Sam. “I mean, when we’re somewhere where there are fish.”
“And a couple of mice,” added Lirael. “If you like mice, that is.”
Mice chewed books. All librarians disliked mice, and Lirael was no exception. She was quite pleased to discover that becoming an Abhorsen had not removed that essential part of the librarian in her. She still hated silverfish as well.
“There is no point bargaining with the creature,” said the Dog. “He will do as he is told.”
“Fish when available, and mice, and a songbird,” said Mogget, emerging from the pack, his little pink tongue tasting the air as if the fish were even now in front of him.
“No songbird,” said Lirael firmly.
“Very well,” agreed Mogget. He cast a disdainful glance at the Dog. “A civilized agreement, and in keeping with my current form. Food and lodging in return for what help I care to offer. Better than being a slave.”
“You are a—” the Dog began hotly, but Lirael grabbed her collar and she subsided, growling.
“There’s no time for bickering,” said Lirael. “Hedge let Mareyn—the Guard—go, intending to enslave her spirit later—a slow death makes for a more powerful spirit. He knows roughly where she died, and he may have had other servants in Death who will report my presence. So we need to get going.”
“We should . . .” Sam began as Lirael started to walk off. “We have to give her a proper ending.”
Lirael shook her head, a diagonal motion that was neither agreement nor refusal, but simply weariness.
“I must be tired,” she said, wiping her brow again. “I promised her I would.”
Like the bodies of the merchant party, Mareyn’s body, if left here, could become inhabited by another Dead spirit, or Hedge might be able to use it for even worse things.
“Can you do it, Sam?” Lirael asked, rubbing her wrist. “I’m a bit worn out, to be honest.”
“Hedge may smell the magic,” warned the Dog. “As may any Dead creatures that are close enough. Though the rain will help.”
“I’ve already cast a spell,” said Sam apologetically. “I thought we were being attacked—”
“Don’t worry,” interrupted Lirael. “But hurry.”
Sam went over to the body and drew the Charter marks in the air. A few seconds later, a white-hot shroud of fire enveloped the body, and soon there was nothing left for any necromancer save the blackened rings of mail.
Sam turned to go then, but Lirael stepped forward, and three simple Charter marks fell from her open hand into the bark of the tree above the ashes. She spoke to the marks, placing her words there for any Charter Mage to hear in the years ahead, for as long as the tree might stand.
“Mareyn died here, far from home and friends. She was a Royal Guard. A brave woman, who fought against a foe too strong for her. But even in Death she did her duty and more. She will be remembered. Farewell, Mareyn.”
“A fitting gesture,” said the Dog. “And a—”
“Fairly stupid one,” interrupted Mogget, from behind Sam’s head. “We’ll have the Dead down on us in minutes if you keep doing all this magic.”
“Thank you, Mogget,” said Lirael. “I’m glad you’re helping us already. We are leaving now, so you can go back to sleep. Dog—please scout ahead. Sam—follow me.”
Without waiting for an answer, she struck off up towards the ridgeline, heading for a point where the trees clustered more thickly together. The Dog ran up behind her, then slipped around to get ahead, her tail wagging.
“Bossy, isn’t she?” remarked Mogget to Sam, who was following more slowly. “Reminds me of your mother.”