Try as he might, Onrey couldn’t remember if he’d been conscious for the last few hours or not.  It seemed as though his mind had been bobbing along in a pool, up and down, side to side, while his body waited down at the bottom.  But now he knew where he was.  He was on a landing in Dovecote Gardens, and there was a voice.  “Hey?  Are you awake?”

“Yes.”  Onrey screwed his eyes shut, then opened them again.  “Yes, I am.”

The voice made an uncertain sound.  “I don’t know many people from Kindling Grove.  When you get little black cracks on your skin, does that mean you’re just bruised, or that something’s broken?”

“Um.  Bruised.”  Normally he’d resent this kind of ignorance, but right now he was, pathetically, just glad to have somebody there to help him.

“OK, good.  There’s a few of them on your face, but with any luck, that’s the worst of it.  Do you think you can sit up?”

Onrey reached out, put his palm on the wall, and pulled himself up.  That meant that he could see a lot more of the room- the staircase, the banister, Colwyn Ballantine’s open bedroom door- but he still couldn’t see the person he was talking to.  It occurred to him to look around, but the dull pain in his head and neck kept him still.  “I was tricked.  I was trapped.”  He tried make sense of what had happened to him.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up like this, from a starting point of regaining his family’s honour.  “They set a trap.”  There was nothing else to look at, so he focused on a little leaf on the carpet in front of him.  A leaf, or an insect?  He wasn’t sure. 

“Who was it?” said the voice, “I know the people who actually live here aren’t in.”

“He said his name was…”  Onrey stopped.  He’d just realised what the thing on the carpet was, and where the voice was coming from.

For a moment, he just stared stupidly.  Then he said, “You’re a moth.”

“That I am,” said the moth.

Onrey realised that he wasn’t ready to stop staring stupidly.  This was nothing he’d prepared for.  His father had told him stories about the strange things that happened on the paths, stories that had been passed down for generations, since their family had had access to the whole place.  But talking moths?  Surely that was a step too far?

“My name’s Kai,” said the moth, after a polite pause.

There was nothing else to say.  “I’m Onrey Tavin.”  He swallowed.  “The man who attacked me said his name was Joe Warbeck.”

“Right,” said the moth, “That might be the girls’ father.”

Onrey nodded.  “He did mention daughters…”  Suddenly, he realised the full significance of what the moth had said.  “‘The girls’?  How do you know them?”

“Oh, I met them a couple of days ago.”  The creature sounded as though he was grinning.  “I’ve been helping them out… or they’ve been helping me.  More of that, to be honest.”

Onrey narrowed his eyes.  “And I suppose you were the one who helped them escape?” he spat.

The moth fluttered his wings, completely unruffled.  “Nope.  I would have, but I went off for help and they were gone by the time I got back.  But I would have,” he repeated, seemingly just to provoke Onrey even further.

Onrey felt a sudden urge to crush the wretched creature under his knuckles.  “You had no right.  They trespassed on our land.”

“Right.  By having a picnic half a mile from your house.  Bet you were devastated.”

“I would suggest,” said Onrey, battling to keep his temper in check, “that you amend the way in which you speak to the heir to a great house.”

The moth snorted.  “Uh-huh.  If that’s how you talked to Joe Warbeck, I’m not surprised he punched you.”

With an angry cry- this creature had no idea what had happened when he’d met Warbeck- Onrey made to spring to his feet and grab his sword.  He never made it.  Before he could even stretch up to his full height, his head was spinning and he was forced to lean against the wall for balance.

He glanced down at the moth to see if he was going to say something about that.  He didn’t.

“Anyway,” said the moth, after a pause, “never mind about the girls for now.  Was Joe Warbeck the one who smashed up Colwyn’s room?”

“Yes.”  Onrey had almost forgotten about Colwyn’s room.  And he realised, now, that he’d been lucky that Warbeck hadn’t recognised him.  He’d been violent enough as it was, so how much worse would it have been if he’d known that Onrey’s family had imprisoned his daughters?

The moth continued.  “When you were coming up the stairs, did you see a model of a horse’s head on the wall?  It would have been made out of wicker?”

Onrey shook his head.  “I wasn’t looking.”

 “Right.”  The moth fluttered up to perch on top of the banister.  “I’ll go downstairs and see if it’s still in one piece.  If it is, we can use it to contact Colwyn.”

(To be continued)