Malcolm moved the cloth in tiny, mindless circles over his reflection in the stone. Now wasn’t the time to attract attention. Zippo and the phoenix spoke softly together in a language he had never heard before. The island of Feor was a magnet for visitors wanting to experience the menagerie and its creatures of wonder. Malcolm had heard arena audiences bay for blood in every tongue under the sun. Not one of those tongues had sounded remotely like this strange, lilting conversation between his mentor and the phoenix. They weren’t using words, more like sounds that swooped singsong into the highest reaches of the tower and tumbled back to ground in a jumble of notes.

  Malcolm jumped.

  Zippo’s eyes drilled into him. “Well?” Her foot tapped. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve triggered a skill for leaving your sense at home and sending your body out to fend for itself!”

  Malcolm nodded then shook his head, then nodded again, twice, for good luck.

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean no, ma’am, yes, no.”

  “Pull yourself together, boy?”

  Endeleas let out a high-pitched burble.

  “Come here!” said Zippo.

  Malcolm edged closer.

  “Nearer than that! I don’t bite.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

  Endeleas ducked her head under her wing. Malcolm risked another tiny step, but kept his eyes firmly trained on his feet. The phoenix’s tail rustled, colours shifting from feather to feather like a spill of burning oil. He waited.

  Zippo’s foot started tapping again. Malcolm swallowed and looked up. She was holding something out to him. It was a something so vivid it hurt his eyes when he tried to focus on it. Without thinking, he hid his hands behind his back.

  “Take it,” said Zippo.

  Take it? She wanted him to take hold of a flame? In his hand? Was she mad? Well, yes. He’d known that right from the off.

  Malcolm blinked at the shimmering piece of fire in Zippo’s palm. He met her gaze. To be fair, right at this moment, his mentor didn’t actually look too mad – not the crazy sort anyway; as for the furious kind of mad, well, Zippo always looked that way, even at her calmest. He breathed in and held out his hand. Zippo grasped the flame between her finger and thumb and placed it in the centre of his palm.

  “AAghhh! I mean, ohhh!” He bit his lip. The flame was hot, but it didn’t burn. He examined it carefully from all angles. It wasn’t a flame at all. It was a feather, so delicate it looked like it would fall to pieces in a breath of wind.

  “Wow!”

  Zippo nodded. A smile played about the corners of her mouth. “Endeleas would like you to take this feather to the CRaP enclosure.” She waved him away and turned back to the phoenix.

  “She wants me to… To the CRaP! To the greys!” Malcolm gasped. “To do what with it?” Not to give it to them, surely? Why would the phoenix even want such a thing? It had to be a mistake. If he strolled into the greys’ enclosure with magic in his hand? Hell. They’d eat him alive. The monsters would kill him to get to what they craved.

  “Are you saying the phoenix wants me to take one of her magic feathers to the greys? Why would I do that?” His voice climbed. “The smell of magic’ll send them all mad. They’ll swamp me! I’ll have no chance.”

  He wouldn’t either. The greys lived to gather magic. Zippo must have made a mistake. No!

  Even the idea of entertaining the thought of suggesting such a thing lodged in his throat. It was obviously him that had misunderstood something along the way. Silly, old Malcolm! He forced out a weak smile.

  “Ha-ha-ha,” he said and swallowed again. “What does the phoenix really want me to do with her feather?”

  The silence stretched. Endeleas’ eyes took on a cold, glassy look.

  “If she’s that dead set on it, I guess I could chuck the feather through the bars of the nearest cage and make a run for it,” said Mal.

  “Don’t tell me our big brave monster fighter-to-be is all worked up about a few caged greys?” said Zippo. “It’s not like they can get to you, is it?

  A chorus of notes soared up the tower, conversation over – the one he could understand anyway.

  * * *

  Malcolm patted his pocket. It was hot where it shouldn’t be, and he got a queasy feeling each time he caught a glimpse of his trouser leg. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he told himself for the gazillionth time since he’d left the tower.

  Except everything wasn’t going to be fine. He was halfway to the monster enclosure with a magic feather in his pocket, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it once he got there. Neither the phoenix nor the old woman had been at all clear on the matter. As far as he could work out, once he’d taken the feather to the cages, Malcolm was free to go. No strings attached. He’d been back to the tower to check, several times. The last time he checked, Endeleas had done her angry bird on fire impression again and that sealed the deal.

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  He could always sell the feather! The idea snaked around his brain. A phoenix feather must be worth a small fortune. He could use the money to buy another skill stone – maybe more than one. A skill stone each. One for him and one for Declan.

  Not that he’d actually do it of course, but it was an entertaining diversion to trek across the menagerie with. He’d just got to the part where he bought a new cooking skill for Declan, preferably one that multiplied ingredients, and a couple of ace combat skills for himself.

  “Name and business!” The guard emerged from behind one of the two pillars marking the entrance to the caged area. This was getting to be a habit. The guard wore the silver trimmed black cloak of the archivist’s men.

  “Zippo sent me here. She said I’ve to go in.”

  “Hmm, let me think,” said the guard. “No.” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

  “Zippo – the healer. She sent me here.”

  “Then, she’ll have sent you with the password,” said the guard.

  Malcolm gritted his teeth and pushed a thought towards his core.

  “Ah, here it is,” he said, holding out his hand. “It says it right here, see.” He pointed to his palm. The guard blinked doubtfully.

  “Best guard ever,” said Malcolm. The words almost choked him to say, but green light flickered at the edge of his vision.

  “Straight ahead as you go, Sir.” The guard clicked his heels and waved him through.

  He raced through the dingy, low-ceilinged corridors, head down, not daring to look either side. Despite Zippo’s confidence, the last thing he wanted was to attract the interest of the monstrous inhabitants, especially not with a mana filled feather burning a hole in his trousers. Who knew what a determined grey might be able to do to iron bars in the face of something it desperately wanted.

  He skidded around the corner and onto a narrow corridor exactly the same as the last. They were all the same, dozens of them, each corridor lined with cages. They couldn’t all be full, could they? He’d never imagined so many greys even existed. The arena fights were held every week and twice on public holidays. This place could hold years’ worth of opponents.

  Malcolm coughed. The stink of stale piss burned the hairs in his nose and stung the back of his throat. The place felt wrong. He sped up, desperate to get the stupid errand over and done with. At some point, he needed to get rid of the feather. Zippo had hardly been specific on how. Poke it through the bars and run? Drop it and run? Neither felt right.

  From up ahead, came the sound of metal against metal.

  “Weapons at the ready!” The voice boomed down the corridor, followed by the creaks and bangs of doors opening. Something roared behind him. Something else roared in front. Malcolm stopped. Training? It must be. Today wasn’t a scheduled fight day. The whole corridor reverberated with unearthly noise. It sounded like the greys were eager to get stuck in! He needed to lose the damn feather, right now. He glanced up. Halfway down the walkway, a slight figure slipped between the cages, a shock of orange hair vivid in the murky light.

  Malcolm padded after him. He peered around edge of the wall and into a man-sized hollow lined from floor to ceiling with a maze of pipes.

  Todd crouched in the corner, his eyes closed, and his lips pursed. He was humming into the end of the biggest pipe, a slow, rhythmic tune that tickled at Malcolm’s ears. It was a song he’d heard before. A confusing reel of half-memories flashed through his mind – his head on a raggedy pillow, the smell of baking bread, a hand against his cheek. He rubbed his eyes. They felt so heavy. Despite himself, he swayed.

  “Plug your ears,” ordered Todd. He fished in his pocket and threw a wad of balled up wool at Malcolm’s feet.

  “But..” said Mal.

  “Just do it!”

  He could hardly summon the energy to pick it up. Must have been overdoing things lately. He pulled the wool roughly in half and stuffed one piece into each ear. He yawned and leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the memories flooding his brain. The next second, Todd was beside him, tapping his arm and gesturing to his ears. Malcolm yanked out the lumps of wool. The enclosure was silent. Surely not?

  “What you doing sneaking about down here?” asked Todd. “What is it you’re after?”

  “N-nothing, honest,” said Malcolm. His cheeks burned with guilt. He chewed his lip. Todd looked furious with him.

  “I need to go,” said Mal. “It’s time I was getting back.”

  “Back from doing what?” Todd narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?”

  Malcolm attempted another shrug. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “But you won’t tell me. Information costs, doesn’t it, Todd?” It was a poor attempt at misdirection. Todd wasn’t daft.

  “You’ve just seen what I’m doing here with your own eyes,” he fired back. “You’re the one who’s keeping secrets this time.”

  “I won’t tell anyone what you were doing, honest. Look, I need to go.” Malcolm didn’t wait for Todd to object. He set off down the corridor at a jog, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve.

  Before he even got to the corner, something inside made him stop. He turned back. What about if? It might be a stupid idea, but it wasn’t like anything else seemed right. He could hardly run round this rabbit warren waiting for opportunity to present itself forever. This was the opportunity.

  “Here,” said Mal. He popped his head under a pipe and reached for his pocket. “I brought this for you.” He held out his hand, the feather nestled in his palm like goose down. “It’s grey!” gasped Malcolm. “How?” He dropped it, horrified. The feather wavered in the air for a second, then floated gently down to land at Todd’s feet. “I promise it wasn’t grey when she gave it to me! Really, it wasn’t!” The shame of presenting Todd with such a thing burned his cheeks. Was this the point of the feather errand? Another of Zippo’s peculiar teaching strategies. How to make Malcolm look like a clunk in one easy move. It sounded about right.

  Todd gestured towards the feather. “Cheers for that,” he said, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. If anything, he sounded grateful. Mal had been buying secrets from Todd for months. The boy worked constantly. Malcolm doubted he’d ever been handed anything on a plate. His cheeks burned harder.

  Todd bent to pick up the feather. “Look!” he whispered, his eyes wide. He held the feather up to the dim light. The shaft seethed with a riot of shifting colours. “This feather’s got mana in it!”

  “Yeah, I know!” shouted Malcolm, giddy with relief – job done.

  He started for the exit. At the end of the corridor, he looked back. Todd leant back against the wall, cradling the feather in his hand, stroking it gently with one finger. Malcolm smiled.

  “Hey!” Todd’s head popped up. “I’m getting a team together…. You know… for the archive run. If you want in, meet me at the red oak, first thing tomorrow.” He nodded at Mal’s answering grin and disappeared back into the pipes.

  Malcolm sped down the still silent corridors – no point in hanging about. The entrance was unmanned now, the guard busy carpentering, judging by the rough sawing noise coming from his station. Mal slipped through barrier and headed for home, humming a half-remembered tune.