Dark Lord of Derkholm (Derkholm 1) - Page 43

“Lydda!” Callette’s beak stabbed toward Derk’s face.

Derk sat between two angry griffins. He did not feel equal to this.

“I can’t fly worth nuts!” Lydda snarled.

“She has to launch from the window!” Callette squawked.

“That dragon drove him mad. I knew it,” Fran put in.

“You shut up, animal-woman!” Elda said venomously.

“Be quiet, all of you!” Derk managed what was nearly a shout. Luckily they were all surprised enough to obey him. He went on hoarsely. “Lydda can certainly do it. She’s a long-distance flier. I should know. I made you that way, Lydda. If you go slow and take it steady and work up gradually to longer distances, you’ll be doing a hundred miles without noticing after a week.”

“Are you sure?” said Lydda. “I thought you were making fun of me.”

“Of course I’m sure,” said Derk. “I built you with a double-sized heart, massive wing muscles, slow metabolism—you’ve got better circulation than Callette has, Lydda. You were a special model. I hoped you might manage to cross the ocean when you were full grown. But I wasn’t going to bother you with that idea until you were older.”

Lydda’s beak bent, and she looked uncertainly at her bulging front. “I’m fat.”

“Most of it’s muscle,” said Derk, “though some is due to overeating, I admit. You’ll have to work the fat off as you fly. And make sure you have a high place to launch from until your muscles adjust, won’t you?”

“I’ll be careful. Should I go now?” Lydda asked.

“You’d make Mum’s Lair on the first stage if you go now,” Elda said wistfully.

“But study the clues when you get there,” Derk advised. “They’re all fairly well labeled, but you’ll find some of them have to be spoken by people—the Emir, for instance—and you’ll have to ask to speak to those people. And I don’t have to remind you that some people find griffins alarming, do I? Be very polite, but ready to dodge in case of trouble.”

“Ye-es.” Lydda held out her extended claws, and Elda carefully stuck the yellow packet onto them. Lydda looked at it dubiously. “But what about the broth?”

“I can do broth,” Fran and Elda said together. They glared at one another.

“And if I’m traveling, I shall have to eat things raw,” Lydda said.

“I eat things raw most of the time. It hasn’t killed me,” Callette said. “Go away and be useful, the way you always are!”

Callette’s feelings were very clearly hurt. As Lydda, full of thoughts and importance, paced slowly toward the stairs, Derk turned hurriedly to the window again. “Callette, I need to turn this house into a Citadel, but I won’t have time to do it all at once now. Have you any thoughts on how to design it section by section?”

Callette’s crest came up, and her eyes were brighter. “In black stripes, living room first?” she asked. “You want it frowning? Evil towers?”

“Exactly,” said Derk. “Lots of evil

towers and monsters in the forecourt.”

“You’ll need drawings from all angles to show how to slot the stripes together. I’ll go and do some now,” Callette said briskly. “When do you want the first stripe?”

“Tomorrow?” asked Derk.

“Easy.” Callette turned busily from the window just as Lydda launched herself from overhead, shouting a cheerful good-bye. Lydda was clearly saving energy. There was none of the usual frantic wing whupping. “Huh!” said Callette. “You really think she won’t come down in the next five minutes?”

“No,” said Derk.

Indoors Elda was saying pathetically, “What about me, Dad?”

“You can help me get back to bed,” Derk said wearily.

TWELVE

IT TOOK BLADE FIVE HOPS to get back to where the soldiers were—almost as many as Derk would have needed—and the only good thing when he got there was that it had stopped raining. He arrived to find Pretty galloping about in a crowd of dogs, the soldiers yelling steadily, something about their human rights, and Kit, Don, and Shona gathered anxiously around Barnabas.

Tags: Diana Wynne Jones Derkholm Fantasy
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