“It was real enough,” said Sabriel grimly. “Damed and eleven others were killed in that attack, and two more of our people outside Hennen. Perhaps more have been killed. We split up after Hennen, to lay false trails. None of our people have beaten us here?”

Coelle shook her head.

“Damed won’t be forgotten,” said Touchstone. “Or Barlest, or any of them. We will not forget our enemies, either.”

“These are terrible times,” sighed Coelle. She shook her head several times again as they went inside, past more armed schoolgirls, who looked on in awe at the legendary Sabriel and her consort, even if he was only the King of the Old Kingdom and nowhere near as interesting. Sabriel had once been one of them. They kept looking long after Coelle had ushered the distinguished visitors through a door to the Visiting Parents’ parlour, possibly the most luxuriously appointed room in the whole school.

“I trust the things we left have not been disturbed?” asked Sabriel. “What is the situation? What news?”

“Everything is as you left it,” replied Coelle. “We have no real trouble yet. Felicity! Please have the Abhorsen’s trunk brought up from the cellar. Pippa and Zettie... and whoever is hall monitor today... can help you. As to news, I have messages and—”

“Messages! From Ellimere or Sameth?” asked Touchstone urgently.

Coelle took two folded pieces of paper from her sleeve and passed them across. Touchstone grabbed them eagerly and stood close to Sabriel to read them, as Felicity and her cohorts surged past and disappeared through one of the heavy, highly polished doors.

The first message was written in blue pencil on a torn piece of letterhead that had the same bugle-and-scroll symbol that had adorned the side of the postal van. Touchstone and Sabriel read it through carefully, deep frowns appearing on both their foreheads. Then they read it again and looked at each other, deep surprise clear on their faces.

“One of our old girls sent that,” contributed Coelle nervously, as no one said anything. “Lornella Acren-Janes, who is assistant to the Postmaster General. A copy of a telegram, obviously. I don’t know if it ever went to your embassy.”

“Can it be trusted?” asked Touchstone. “Aunt Lirael? Abhorsen-in-Waiting? Is this some other ploy to cloud our minds?”

Sabriel shook her head.

“It sounds like Sam,” she said. “Even though I don’t understand it. Clearly much has been going on in the Old Kingdom. I do not think we will quickly come to the root of it all.”

She unfolded the second piece of paper. Unlike the first, this was thick, handmade paper, and there were only three symbols upon it. Quiescent Charter marks, dark on the white page. Sabriel ran her palm across them and they sprang into bright, vivid life, almost leaping into her hand. With them came Ellimere’s voice, clear and strong as if she stood next to them.

“Mother! Father! I hope you get this very quickly. The Clayr have Seen much more, too much to tell in this message. There is great danger, beyond our imagining. I am at Barhedrin with the Guard, the Trained Bands, and a Seven Hundred and Eighty-Four of the Clayr. The Clayr are trying to See what we must do. They say Sam is alive and fighting, and that whatever we do, you must get to Barhedrin by Anstyr’s Day or it will be too late. We have to take the Paperwings somewhere. Oh – I have an aunt, apparently your half-sister... What? Don’t interrupt—”

Ellimere’s voice stopped mid word. The Charter marks faded back into the paper.

“An interruption mid spell,” said Touchstone with a frown. “It’s unlike Ellimere not to redo it. Whose half-sister? She cannot be mine—”

“The important fact is that the Clayr have finally Seen something,” said Sabriel. “Anstyr’s Day... we need to consult an almanac. That must be soon... very soon... we will have to go on immediately.”

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to,” said Coelle nervously. “That message got here only this morning. A Crossing Point Scout brought it. He was in a hurry to get back. Apparently there has been some sort of attack from across the Wall and—”

“An attack from across the Wall!” interrupted Sabriel and Touchstone together. “What kind of attack?”

“He didn’t know,” stammered Coelle, taken aback at the ferocity of the question, Sabriel and Touchstone both leaning in close to her. “It was in the far west. But there is also trouble at the Crossing Point. Apparently General Kingswold, the visiting Inspector General, has declared for the Our Country government, but General Tindall refuses to recognise it or Kingswold. Various units have taken sides, some with Tindall, some with Kingswold—”

“So Corolini has openly tried to seize power?” asked Sabriel. “When did this happen?”

“It was in this morning’s paper,” replied Coelle. “We haven’t had the afternoon edition. There is fighting in Corvere... You didn’t know?”

“We’ve got this far by hidden ways, avoiding contact with Ancelstierrans as much as possible,” said Touchstone. “There hasn’t been a lot of time to read the papers.”

“The Times said the Chief Minister still controls the Arsenal, Decision Palace and Corvere Moot,” said Coelle.

“If he holds the Palace, then he still controls the Hereditary Arbiter,” said Touchstone. He looked at Sabriel for confirmation. “Corolini cannot form a government without the Arbiter’s blessing, can he?”

“Not unless everything has crumbled,” said Sabriel decisively. “But it doesn’t matter. Corolini, the attempted coup – it is all a sideshow. Everything that has happened here is the work of some power from the Old Kingdom – our kingdom. The continental wars, the influx of Southerling refugees, the rise of Corolini, everything has been orchestrated, planned for some purpose we do not know. But what can a power from our Kingdom want in Ancelstierre? I can understand sowing confusion in Ancelstierre to facilitate an attack across the Wall. But for what? And who?”

“Sam’s telegram mentions Chlorr,” said Touchstone.

“Chlorr is only a necromancer, though a powerful one,” said Sabriel. “It must be something else. ‘Evil updug... I mean dug up... near Edge—’”

Sabriel stopped in mid sentence as Felicity and her three cohorts staggered in, carrying a long, brassbound trunk. They put it down in the middle of the floor. Charter marks drifted in lazy lines along the lid and across the keyhole. They flared into brilliant life as Sabriel touched the lock and whispered some words under her breath. There was a snick, the lid lifted a finger’s breadth, then Sabriel flung it open to reveal clothes, armour, swords and her bell-bandoleer. Sabriel ignored these, digging down one side to pull out a large, leather-bound book. Embossed gold type on the cover declared the book to be An Alamanac of the Two Countries and the Region of the Wall. She flicked quickly through its thick pages till she came to a series of tables.

“What is today?” she asked. “The date?”

“The twentieth,” said Coelle.

Sabriel ran her finger down one table and then across. She stared at the result, and her finger ran again through the numbers as she quickly rechecked it.

“When is it?” asked Touchstone. “Anstyr’s Day?”

“Now,” said Sabriel. “Today.”

Silence greeted her words. Touchstone rallied a moment later.

“It should still be morning in the Kingdom,” he said. “We can make it.”

“Not by road, not with the Crossing Point uncertain,” said Sabriel. “We are too far south to call a Paperwing—”

Her eyes flashed at a sudden idea. “Magistrix, does Hugh Jorbert still lease the school’s west paddock for his flying school?”

“Yes,” replied Coelle. “But the Jorberts are on holiday. They won’t be back for a month.”

“We can’t fly in an Ancelstierran machine,” protested Touchstone. “The wind is from the north. The engine will die within ten miles of here.”