Greenwild, page 25
She explained as best she could, and Artemis nodded.
“Of course,” she said. “It makes sense. And what a wish.”
Daisy stared fixedly at the stiff cuffs of her nightgown. They were white and embroidered with tiny green oak leaves. She tried very hard not to think of how much she missed Hal: his grouchiness, his cleverness and his bone-deep kindness.
“So,” she said, swallowing, “what happened to Hal after he left Mallowmarsh?”
Artemis closed her eyes, and seemed to gather herself. “Hal’s father had family among the Moon Travelers—a grandfather and cousins, good people—and they invited Hal to live with them. I went to see him every month at Moonmarket, and I tried to persuade him to come home. But he was terribly stubborn; and I could see that he was safe and happy where he was. In the end, I had to let him go.”
She drew in a breath. “Anyway, six years after he left, Hal started sending specimens back to Mallowmarsh—the rarest and most legendary specimens in the world. The mimsy fern, the crosspatch baobab, the phosphorescent mango.”
Daisy sat up, listening hard.
“But Hal wasn’t satisfied with saving plants from Darkmarket. He wanted to shut down the market itself. He decided to go undercover: changed his identity and embedded himself in a Darkmarket operation. It was the only way to find out who was running the business: to weed it out from the root.” Artemis frowned. “His best friend, Cardew, went with him. They were supposed to keep each other safe.”
“But?” prompted Daisy.
“But … one day, while they were posing as Darkmarket agents in the Amazon, Hal did something impossible. He found the ghost-moth orchid. He told Cardew, trusting him to keep it safe—and Cardew betrayed him for it. By that time, of course, Cardew had gone over to the Darkmarketeers—or the Grim Reapers, as they were starting to call themselves—for real. He killed Hal … and everything my son had discovered about the Grim Reapers died with him.”
Daisy thought of Ma sobbing at night after Pa’s funeral. She thought of her father’s strong arms when she was small: their hide-and-seek, story-time, high-holiday glory times. She knew then that he had not wanted to leave them behind. That he would have done anything to be there for them always.
Artemis went on quietly. “Cardew killed two more Greenwilders in the struggle, before he was captured and made to stand trial. He was stripped of his magic and cast out into the Grayside. I thought he was dead. And I was glad.”
Daisy closed her eyes, and Napoleon sat himself consolingly on her feet like the world’s smallest purring hot-water bottle.
Then: “Hang on,” she said, remembering something urgent and sitting up so fast that Napoleon yelped. “I should have told you before. Brightly was working for Craven. He was blackmailing her because—”
But Artemis was already nodding. “I know, Daisy. I worked it out around the same time you did. It’s no wonder Brightly acted as she did, with her son’s life in the balance.”
“She said…” Daisy frowned. “She said that as soon as Craven attacked Mallowmarsh, her side of the bargain would be done. Is that why…”
“Yes,” said Artemis. “That’s why she fought on our side in the battle—after freeing herself from the boat where you’d locked her up.”
“Is she all right? What happened to her?”
Artemis’s forehead creased.
“I’m afraid that Brightly didn’t survive the fight,” she said quietly. “But I think, also, that she did not mean to survive it. Thanks to the ghost-moth orchid, she had no more than a few months left. She’d given more than seventy years of her own life to her son—and, this way, she went down fighting for the world Max will grow up in.”
Daisy rocked back, feeling as if she’d been walloped in the chest.
“And Max? Where is he?”
“Craven had the boy imprisoned in the cellar of his home. By the time we got there, Max had escaped. We’ve got Botanists out scouring every inch of London as we speak.”
Daisy sucked in a breath. “Craven really planned everything, didn’t he?”
Artemis nodded. “With the help of Maud Daggler. She’s a dangerous character—a Botanist by birth, with little magical ability and a whole lot of bitterness to go with it. She’s been at the heart of the Darkmarket for years.”
“She must have taken the dandelight from Brightly and handed it over to Cardew.”
“Exactly, Daisy.”
“But … if Sheldrake didn’t steal the dandelight, then what was he doing with Matron at Moonmarket? Who was he talking to in the Sighing Forest?”
“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid, Daisy,” said Artemis, suddenly becoming very interested in a ladybug that was walking across the quilt.
Daisy was about to protest, but the look on the commander’s face told her it would be no use. Instead, she swallowed and said, “Craven told me he was working for the Grim Reapers. I think … they’re the ones hunting down Botanists.”
“Good greenness, he really did talk, didn’t he?” said Artemis. “And I’m afraid you’re right. For years we’ve been telling our children stories of the Grim Reapers: monsters who stalk the earth with their scythes. And all this time a group of human monsters has been growing into the name: a vast organization that unites the worst elements of the two worlds: an alliance of power-hungry Graysiders and corrupt Botanists like Daggler. For centuries, the Greenside has stayed secret, but now thanks to Craven there are Graysiders who know about us. And, even though he’s gone, they’re not going to leave us alone.” She rubbed her temples. “The dandelight is the missing weapon in their arsenal. It’s a compass as well as a key—and it could lead the Grim Reapers to each and every door to the Greenwild. No pocket would be safe.”
“But what do they actually want?”
“What don’t they want? That’s the question, Daisy. For these people, cutting down every tree in the Amazon rainforest would only be the start.”
“But—but WHY? That’s evil.”
“There’s big money in destroying the earth, Daisy: pumping for oil, planting crops for livestock on pristine rainforest land, mining for minerals, selling rare specimens for profit. Enough to make men millionaires many times over. There are Grim Reapers in every government, in every big company and organization—always pushing for more destruction.”
With a shiver of unease, Daisy remembered the photos of Craven shaking hands with presidents and prime ministers and A-list celebrities.
Artemis was still speaking. “And if that’s what they’re doing in the Grayside, imagine what they have planned for the magical specimens and wonders of the Greenwild. We’re talking about destruction on a scale we have never seen before.”
Daisy tried to imagine the full horror of this, but it made her head hurt too much.
“Why kidnap Botanists?” she asked instead. “Why keep them prisoner?”
“I don’t know,” said Artemis slowly. “I’ve heard rumors of terrible things … All we can say for now is that the Botanists are more useful to them alive than dead, whether as bargaining chips, or for another purpose we can only guess at.”
“But…” Daisy swallowed, and her throat went tight. “Craven said Ma … he said Ma was dead.” This was the shadowy thing she’d been trying not to think about: Craven’s words, and the utter finality in his voice.
She looked to Artemis as if begging her to deny it. But Artemis said nothing, and only held her hand.
After a long time, Daisy wiped her eyes and said, “It was her necklace, wasn’t it? That’s how Craven knew she was a Botanist.”
“Yes.” Artemis looked pained. “They never met before. Your mother didn’t come to Cardew’s trial. I think it was too painful.”
Daisy nodded. “And there’s one more thing…”
“Go ahead, Daisy.”
“Craven mentioned someone called ‘the Great Reaper.’ It sounded like he was the one in charge. Craven thought that if he could hand over Mallowmarsh the Great Reaper would give him back his magic as some sort of reward.”
Artemis’s laugh was bitter. “I fear he was deceived in that hope. But he was right about one thing, Daisy. Greed is a well that never runs dry. The Grim Reapers are on the rise. And that means the attacks and disappearances aren’t going to stop anytime soon. We may have won the battle, but the war has barely begun.”
Chapter 52
There was silence again in the room. They sat as the moon sank beyond the window, and the pale green light of pre-dawn filled the sky, spangled with sequined fading stars.
“How did you work it out?” said Daisy at last. “How did you really guess who I was?”
“The dandelight,” said Artemis, nodding to where it shone on the bedside table. “It was handed down through the White family for centuries: all the way from Francesca White, Robert Chiveley’s mistress. I gave it to Hal when he left for Moonmarket so that he’d always be able to find the nearest pocket, no matter where he was in the world. You turning up with it—it could only mean one thing. That Hal had had a child I didn’t know about.” Her eyes flicked to Daisy. “And then, of course, there was Brutus.”
“Brutus?”
Artemis gave an unexpected snort. “Yes: that absurd dog, licking you from head to toe. A Greenwild bloodhound recognizes the blood of its master, Daisy. It remains loyal to that bond through the generations.”
“What?” Daisy didn’t understand. “I’m not related to Sheldrake.”
“Oh, yes you are,” said Artemis. “You see, he was Hal’s father. My husband.”
Daisy stared at her, dumfounded.
Artemis nodded. “We’ve lived apart ever since Hal left. I could never forgive him for driving Hal away. And he couldn’t forgive himself. Neither of us could leave Mallowmarsh—it’s our home, our life’s work. So … we separated. He stopped using my surname, went back to his bachelor name: Sheldrake. I stayed here at the Roost, and he moved to his cabin in the woods. He’s lived there ever since.”
Daisy was struggling to take everything in. In one day, she had found and lost her father, gained a grandmother—and now incredibly … “A grandfather?” She wasn’t sure she liked the idea, if it meant being attached to Sheldrake. Even if he had probably saved her life in the battle.
Artemis wrinkled her nose. “Yes—although I doubt he’d like you calling him that. He doesn’t like to admit he’s getting older.”
Daisy looked at Napoleon, curled up on the quilt between them. Dawn was breaking, the lemony light flooding through the round porthole window, and a blackbird was singing its heart out on the roof.
“You know,” said Daisy, “Hal was working on the hidden garden because he wanted to do something to make you proud. He cared about you. A lot. And”—Daisy paused, realizing—“my parents always said I was named after my grandmother.” She paused. “My proper name is Diana: the Roman version of Artemis. I couldn’t pronounce it when I was little, so it became Daisy instead. But he named me after you.” She looked at her grandmother. “He never forgot.”
“Oh,” said Artemis, and her blue eyes were very bright. The morning light was like fresh water, cool and sweet. “Oh, Daisy.” A single tear ran down her cheek, and then she threw her arms around her granddaughter.
Chapter 53
“Hurry up!” called Indigo from below. “We’re going to be late.”
“Coming!” Daisy paused in the kitchen to get a pear from the larder tree. It fell into her hand, cool and heavy. Then, taking a large bite, she threw open the kitchen door and flew down the spiral staircase. The steps blurred beneath her feet as she ran, a bubble of happiness rising in her throat as she saw Indigo turning cartwheels on the grass, and Acorn beaming, and the Prof polishing her spectacles, which winked in the light. Shortly after Daisy had woken up, the commander had announced that their demerits had been struck from the record, and the Prof had been unstoppably cheerful ever since.
“Although,” she said, “it’s never too early to start preparing for the next test—it’s in April, you know.”
Daisy spun down the final curve of the staircase, feeling the whole world still whirling around her. Ma’s necklace was around her neck, and her arm was out of its cast. For the last week, Miss Tufton had forced her to drink regular beakers of bitterbone brew (made, she said, from the crushed stems of the ghostly white ossuary flower). The smell was a mixture of blue cheese and old socks, but it had worked.
Now, Daisy felt the breeze against her skin, and drew a deep breath into her lungs. The sky was periwinkle blue, and the air was as fresh and sparkling as golden elderflower cordial.
Napoleon leaped lightly down the steps beside her. Their adventures didn’t seem to have affected him at all. If anything, his whiskers were finer and his bearing snootier than ever.
Indigo turned a last cartwheel and a parakeet flew around Daisy’s head, twittering excitedly. She grinned at him and Acorn and the Prof. “Let’s go.”
Winter had lessened its grip on Mallowmarsh while Daisy slept. The grounds were filled with frilled white snowdrops and bright-blue irises, bottle-green frippery-fibs and great drifts of early daffotrills (sounding, as Brightly had promised, just like pompous brass bands).
They made their way around the sparkling lake beneath the waving silver birches and plum trees—and Daisy’s eyes widened as the Great Glasshouse came into view.
The glass had gradually been healing itself over the last week, under the watchful eye of Gulliver Wildish and the tender ministrations of a small army of gardeners and under-gardeners. It had grown back in new and elaborately curving and ballooning panes, with domes and fanciful turrets in the heights. There was no sign of the gaping hole through which Craven had fallen to his death.
“Look!” said the Prof, pointing at the group of students gathered around the doors of the glasshouse, where a sheet of paper was pinned on a large corkboard. “It must be the Bloomquist test results. They always post them there.” Daisy lagged behind while the others ran ahead. Then the Prof gave a shout of disbelief, and Acorn began leaping up and down.
“Daisy, Daisy! You have to see this!”
Daisy hurried over and Indigo shoved the sheet of paper in her face. “It’s marked out of twenty,” he said.
Bellamy, Professor: 19
Bubble, Septimus: 13
Cantrip, Kalissa: 17
Podsnap, Indigo: 14
Helix, Ivy: 18
Rowan-Rajan, Ravi: 15
Rowan-Rajan, Rishi: 16
Thistledown, Daisy: 20
Daisy stared. “But—but that’s impossible. I failed. I didn’t do any magic during the test.”
“Not according to Honoria Plume,” came a voice from behind them. Daisy turned and saw Artemis grinning at her. “It wasn’t her who petrified that venomous hydra,” said the commander, looking hard at Daisy. “It was you.”
“Me?” Daisy shook her head in bewilderment. “No. There must be some kind of mistake.” What she was hearing seemed huge and impossible, like being told that she’d swallowed a rhinoceros without noticing.
“Honoria doesn’t make mistakes about this kind of thing. And in view of the magic you used during the battle, we both agreed that this mark was the least you deserved.”
Daisy watched, stunned, as a smiling Artemis strode away across the lawn.
* * *
The Grand Mallowmarsh Founders’ Day garden party always took place at the end of January, and it couldn’t have come with better timing. By five o’clock that evening, the celebrations were in full swing on the lawn in front of the Great Glasshouse, and it was clear that the whole event was going to go off with a bang. Wildish was seated at a shiny grand piano that had been pulled out onto the lawn, his wooden hand dancing lightly over the lower keys. An orchestra of camellias was creating music alongside him, while the topiary elephants and tigers swung their trunks and tails in time to the music. The air was soft, the trees filled with music and laughter and parakeets, and the glasshouse itself gleamed like a garnet in the light of the setting sun. The Heart Oak was hung with fresh ribbons and gold coins, and Daisy thought that the magnificent old tree had never looked finer.
Meanwhile, Mr. McGuffin and Mrs. Marchpane had been working for days on a grand feast—not aided by the Littlies, who had locked themselves in the kitchen the night before the party and wreaked gleeful havoc. They’d been discovered before dawn that morning, covered in apple sauce and tipsy on plum wine, and were still in disgrace.
Despite this mishap, the three large tables on the lawn groaned under the weight of buttered potatoes and honey-glazed carrots, roasted chickens and meltingly soft onion tarts, crusty breads and hearty pies. There were lemony cheesecakes, banoffee pies and tiny starberry cakes drenched in honey syrup, cupcakes topped with marzipan acorns, and piles of honey sandwiches, flaky sugarplum pastries and jugs of fresh cream.
A flotilla of lilypaddles was crossing the lake, bringing over guests, and the grass was already full of people milling around, talking, eating and laughing.
Daisy spotted Madame Gallitrop chatting to a tall Botanist with a very impressive curled mustache.
“Who’s that?” she asked. Indigo glanced over.
“Oh, that’s Ivor Whelk, a famous marine Botanist. He’s just come back from studying piranhas in the Amazon River. Anyone who’s anyone,” said Indigo, grandly, “is invited to the great Mallowmarsh Founders’ Day garden party.” He took a slice of cake from one of the tables, glanced around to check no one was watching and dunked it into a cream jug. Daisy joined him, and spotted Artemis and Sheldrake talking quietly together in the shelter of the trees.
“I can’t believe no one told us that they used to be married,” said Indigo through a mouthful of cake. “It’s just like the grown-ups to keep something like that secret.”
Daisy nodded, watching Sheldrake’s upright figure. She’d got everything so hopelessly mixed up.
The sun was sinking calmly into the lake, smooth as a mirror. The air was cool and crisp, and the sweet violets and sump-roses had a richer scent than ever before. The aerial tulips floated on the breeze like orange candles, while glasses of sweet dandelion cordial were passed around and Prof played leapfrog with the Littlies.
