The Monster Who Wasn't

by T C Shelley

All three of them sniffed. They were assailed by too many smells, too many nasty rotten aromas.

  Sam and Nutty-Arm both shrugged.

  ‘Maybe if we find the Cavern wall, we can follow it round until we find a tunnel out. There’s gotta be a tunnel out, right?’ Bladder asked.

  ‘Dragon-fire draws the heart’s desire,’ the pixie said, echoing Maggie’s words. ‘Ask the flame, sirrahs, it’s a small one, but powerful enough. It remembers being free. Freedom’s a heart’s desire. The flame will help you see or hear anything you want, if you ask?’

  ‘Show me?’ Bladder shoved his snout between the flame and Nutty-Arm. ‘And no tricks.’

  The pixie pushed his hands into his armpits and sighed. ‘What’s Cutpurse saying? I want to know.’

  The flame spat and the sounds changed to a sad, small collection of pixie voices.

  ‘This looks a good place,’ Cutpurse was saying. A door creaked, footsteps on wood.

  ‘How long we going for?’ a small voice squeaked.

  ‘Forever, Betty,’ Cutpurse replied.

  ‘They’re leaving the Pixie Cavern?’ Sam asked.

  Nutty-Arm nodded. ‘They think Maggie made me a meal for the hags cos I messed up. An’ it’d be like her to put the rest of the pack on the menu. They’re just getting out of her way.’ The pixie’s face twisted with longing. ‘I want to be with ’em.’

  ‘Flame, Wheedle and Spigot, I want to hear them,’ Bladder said.

  The flames crackled, no sound came.

  ‘Maybe they’re too far away,’ Nutty-Arm said. ‘It’s only a small fire.’

  Sam stared at the flame. ‘Is Beatrice all right?’

  The sound was gentle, the softest breeze. Sam blinked for a minute, wondering if he was listening to the wind rustling a single leaf, or a tunnel guiding a whisper-soft draught. Then he realised, it was baby’s breath. He smiled. ‘That’s all I need.’

  The flame hissed like a snake.

  Nutty-Arm watched them with round, hazel eyes.

  ‘Yes, sirrah,’ Nutty-Arm said. ‘Now, Flame, give us noises to where we needs to go to get outta here?’

  The clashing yells of huge beasts filled their circle of light. They jumped. The flames sputtered towards the sound.

  ‘If you want something too much, it’ll distort, you know?’ Nutty-Arm said. ‘It’s dragon bones, remember that.’

  They followed the sounds of fighting until they came to a dirt archway. The flames flickered towards it even though a dirty breeze came out at them.

  They stepped inside. ‘They sound close,’ Bladder said.

  ‘No, sirrah, they’re a long, long way away,’ Nutty-Arm replied. ‘You get a feel for the flame’s noises after a while.’

  ‘How do you know how it works?’ Bladder glared at Nutty-Arm.

  ‘Travelled in the dark with Her Ladyship often enough.’

  ‘You’re being too helpful. Again.’

  Sam picked up the torch. ‘He won’t get out if we don’t.’

  Nutty-Arm crooked his thumb, pointing it at Sam. ‘What he says.’

  They walked upwards.

  Sam realised his backpack was behind them, in Baba Yaga’s cave. He groaned.

  ‘What?’ Bladder asked.

  ‘I’m hungry and …’ He tasted the top of his mouth. He wanted to drink the juice from a cold tin of soup. He wanted a drink. Was there a word for that? ‘Flame, is there any water on the way?’

  The flame gurgled and flowed, trickling ahead. He heard water rushing. Sam hoped it was near.

  By the time they were on it, the water sounded like a waterfall and Sam almost collapsed with need.

  The ‘waterfall’ turned out to be a tiny trickle down the cave wall. It flowed over the stones from a gap in the rock above. Sam put his mouth to it and lapped at the cold, cold water. Near his knees, Nutty-Arm did the same. They turned around to see Bladder looking bored.

  ‘Well, you look better,’ the gargoyle said.

  ‘I’m still hungry.’

  ‘Me too,’ Nutty-Arm said.

  ‘You don’t need to eat any more ’n’ I do,’ Bladder complained. The pixie shrugged.

  Sam didn’t think his legs could lift another step before they saw wall torches and their natural light stretched towards them. Some of the light sucked down the corridor passing them, the pull of Baba Yaga’s magic still stronger than their one small torch, but knowing they were close to an upstairs exit made Sam feel better. The gargoyle and pixie strolled beside him, no more tired than if they’d gone for a walk to the park.

  When violent shots of ogre argument zipped through their dragon-lit cocoon, near and explosive, the pixie screamed.

  Bladder shuffled forward.

  ‘Look, sirrahs.’ Nutty-Arm shook as he pointed at the torches on the wall.

  The glow trickled down the corridor, but it didn’t shoot away like Sam’s torchlight had.

  ‘The Yaga’s magic, it’s starting to fade,’ Bladder said.

  In the distance, noise gathered naturally.

  Nutty-Arm raced off up the corridor, his pattering feet echoing in the flame.

  ‘Good riddance,’ Bladder said. ‘You didn’t have to eat him, but we could have killed him, at least. He’s the reason you’re down here. He took your baby, remember?’

  Sam hadn’t forgotten. ‘I’m going to get her back.’

  ‘What? All this time spent tryna avoid Thunderguts and now you’re gonna walk right up to him for a baby? ’Sides, she don’t belong to you.’

  Sam peered at Bladder. ‘It doesn’t matter. I owe the Kavanaghs. Like you said, pack looks after pack.’

  Bladder sighed. ‘That lot aren’t pack. I think you’re taking gargoyle codes and putting them on humans. I don’t know how loyal they’ll be. I keep telling you, they’re weak. Codes mean nothing to them.’

  ‘Maybe. But I want to do for them what you’d do for me. Even if they want nothing to do with me afterwards.’

  Bladder scratched at the ground. ‘An’ it don’t matter how revolting, stupid or useless they are, you have to look after them.’

  Sam considered this, then said, ‘Is it possible to belong to two packs?’

  Bladder trotted next to him. ‘Oh, yeah, if you want. Look at Nutty-Arm’s lot, all sorts in that pack.’ Bladder sighed. ‘But, come on!’ he said as Sam scratched his mane. ‘Those humans won’t be loyal just cos you save that little one. You can bet on it. You won’t belong to their pack no matter what you do.’

  Sam recognised the stink of ogre paddies in the tunnels and saw the hungry torches along the walls. Far-off sounds carried back the noise of ogres dim-gurgling in the distance.

  Imps hustled by, wearing the panicked expressions of those in service to Thunderguts. Their rushing told Sam this place was all business and murder.

  A pair of ogre guards’ voices boomed ahead. Bladder shot up the wall and pulled into the dirt, disappearing into rock. Sam pressed himself flat and hunkered in the dark.

  When the ogres moved on, Sam reached up, digging in the ceiling to find Bladder. He sighed out his relief when his hands stuck to the surface, and he found he could pull himself up without it being agonising. The gargoyle poked out his head.

  ‘You know I can’t go in there,’ Bladder said. The ridges of his mane paled.

  ‘I know. I think it’s time for you to go upstairs. You’ve done enough.’

  Bladder peered down both ends of the passageway and licked his lips. ‘I’ll just come a little further, OK?’

  The tunnel narrowed as they moved towards the noise. An uncountable number of ogre voices shook the corridor.

  ‘Why’re so many of them in there? Big monsters don’t like getting together, too many fights.’

  Bladder pulled in his head when the next patrol arrived. The great brutes walked in single file. They shoved and pushed, and the lout at the rear staggered and fell to get in front. In the cramped space, it kicked Sam and cried out.

  ‘S’matter, Brutus?’

  ‘
Stubbed ma toe on a rock.’

  Sam bit into his knuckles to stifle his scream. If Brutus thought he’d kicked a rock, Sam felt he’d been kicked by one. He rubbed his shin.

  The ogres’ voices faded. Bladder giggled a little too high. ‘You’re a rock.’

  ‘They don’t seem very smart.’ Sam stared down the passage after them.

  A brownie scuffled past, small, wide-eyed and squealing. Trolls’ yells bellowed after it.

  Bladder whitened to quartz.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s better if you go upstairs. You can tell Daniel I’m still alive,’ Sam said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can cope with most things, but I can’t do another smashing.’

  Sam kissed the stone lion’s nose.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ Bladder said. ‘It hurts inside, like my … you know … is going to fall apart again. I can feel the cracks coming loose.’

  Bladder leaned in so they were cheek to cheek. When a scream echoed in the tunnel, he took off up the wall, disappearing into earth. Sam was alone.

  CHAPTER 19

  Sam hid as a troupe of ogres thumped by, their faces intent, the last one blubbering and chewing its knuckles. He trailed them to the rancid light at the end of the passage and stopped. Head after ogre head moved into the gap in the wall and disappeared downwards. Sam followed them in, first peering behind himself to see if any other ogres were coming, before stepping through the opening and looking down.

  He was high above the Ogres’ Cavern. It was a horrendous sight.

  Below, thousands of monsters carpeted the base, encircling a stone podium in front of a black rock. The monsters closest to the rock watched it with pained and anxious glances. One goblin skirted it as if its surface was hot to the touch. What is it? Sam wondered.

  Blacker than the rock, and right behind it, was a small cave entrance.

  Sam studied the bare, smooth tiers of the cavern. No burrows lined it: nothing lived here. The only hole to hide in was a single cave behind the rock. It must be where they had hidden Beatrice.

  Sam dodged as three ogres shot through the door he’d come in by and tumble-climbed towards the spreading gathering.

  ‘I don’t like being near that sword,’ one said.

  ‘I ent eaten no one, it’s got no call to get at me.’

  ‘But we’re …’

  Shut it,’ said the third. ‘Don’t talk about it.’

  Ogres, goblins, witches, imps and all creatures of the darkness overflowed the tiers. He could see monster head after monster head leaning from the heights, a bestiary from the cavern’s depths to its ceiling, and the violence roared. These were old monsters; even the few pixies he spotted in the crowd were wizened and hobbling. The place filled with their smells and sounds. Underneath it, the tiniest scent of sweet human.

  Beatrice is here, he thought. I’ve gotta get down.

  His arms and legs didn’t agree.

  Sam saw Thunderguts emerge from the crowd below, lumber across the stone podium and towards the small cave entrance. A few sparkles escaped from inside into the sombre air.

  Sam dug his hands into the dirt on the shelf and smeared black muck on to his face, hoping he looked a little less human and a lot more boggartish. If he hid at the sides and kept low, he might be able to avoid eye contact and any monster’s interest. Besides, the crowd seemed more focused on the ogre king’s odd behaviour.

  ‘Beatrice,’ Sam said to himself and climbed down, and when his legs shook, he said her name again.

  Sam scurried along the tier above the monstrous heads, in the direction of the cave. He watched an ogre lobbing pebbles at an ancient brownie. The smaller monster threw its arms over its face and squealed, ‘Stop it!’ It turned to look at the ogre and instead peered straight at Sam. ‘It’s here! It’s here!’ it called.

  A rush of movement hit him from the right, and Sam saw grimy goblin hands just before they shoved him. He fell the short distance to the cavern floor. Even that jarred his shoulder, and he had to clench his teeth to stop from crying.

  His attempt at quietness proved useless, as the crowd peered in the direction of the brownie’s shriek and thousands of hairy fingers pointed at him. A few sniffed and shook their heads, and hundreds of maws hung open, sharp teeth, drool and bad breath decorating each one.

  Yet not one monster moved towards him. Instead, they parted, creating a pathway to the ogre king.

  Thunderguts’s eyes lit with surprise and triumph. ‘Let him through, friends. My little monster, I see you came to me all by yourself in the end. The crone said you would.’

  A troll with piggy little eyes grabbed his sore arm and yanked him to his feet. ‘Go on,’ it said. ‘Prepare for your fate.’ Wassails and hurrahs moved dirt into clouds and huge monsters stamped their feet. Hungry black and red eyes watched him, not a gentle one among them, and large heads and bodies loomed over him. They patted him. Some pushed him along the pathway. A troll rushed forward, grabbed Sam’s hand and shook it until his shoulder hurt, while smaller monsters clambered on to larger ones to get a look at him, clapping their claws as he neared.

  Sam imagined the pain of an ogre bite, but guessed no one would be silly enough to eat him with the king watching. The only way to get closer to Beatrice was through the crowd, so Sam stepped along the quaking path towards the podium.

  ‘YAH!’ they roared, and he felt sick.

  They pressed on him, blocking his way out, and he knew he would never see the Kavanaghs again, nor Bladder or the other gargoyles. He would die in this strange cavern.

  Sam gazed up at the exit high above all of them, but a heavy hand stopped him.

  ‘No chance!’ a gruff voice said. ‘You’re not leaving now. We’ve all come in here to see what you can do. Don’t fail us.’ He saw eager faces and huge fangs exposed in carnivorous smiles. They pushed him to the podium.

  Maybe he would see Beatrice at least.

  Thunderguts trembled, stopped and patted Sam’s shoulder. His claw was cold. ‘It’s all right, little monster, you’re here now. Safe with us.’

  The ogre king wore the same hungry expression Sam had seen on Hatching Day, but he’d said, ‘safe with us’. What did that mean?

  ‘I know you’re embarrassed for running from me. I can read your face,’ the ogre said. ‘Too many hungry mouths and your survival instincts kick in and you run. It’s a good trait in any self-respecting monster, but you know not to be worried now, don’t you? You’re a prince among your own kind.’ Thunderguts grinned. ‘You’ve got grit, like us; you’re a warrior, and you’re going to help us monsters live again in the world above. You’ve been made for a great destiny, little prince …’

  A faint line of sparkles twisted from the cave entrance and danced behind Thunderguts. Sam didn’t care about a great destiny. He stared at the lights. ‘Beatrice?’

  The ogre king said, ‘The crone said you had a thing for babies. I must admit, I prefer something with more meat and less fat, but I guess we got time to get you and your dinner reacquainted. You do know, you can’t eat it yet? No, no, no. But once you’ve done for us, it’s all yours.’ The ogre steered Sam towards the cave, its heavy claw resting on the boy’s shoulder.

  As Thunderguts dragged Sam inside, the noise and chaos outside fell away, and the ogre king let go of his arm. A weak glitter retreated into the darkness, turning in the air so it floated before them.

  Sam watched it weave its way back to a bundle against the wall. He clambered across the floor towards it, but the sparkles evaporated when he put his hands on the ragged pile. Sam opened a gap in a blanket to reveal Beatrice’s tiny face. Ashy lashes lay on the baby’s cheeks, and her dark thatch of Kavanagh hair stuck to her head, slick and shiny. Her thumb shifted between her lips and a bubble budded in the corner.

  Sam pulled his arms around the infant, and Beatrice’s face sank into the dirty fabric of his T-shirt.

  Sam looked at Thunderguts. ‘She’s sick?’

  ‘Dying, actually. And sleeping. The crone p
ut some of that dust on it. The sound made us all hungry.’

  Sam put his hand over his mouth to prevent himself blubbing in front of the old ogre. ‘She’s dying?’

  ‘Monsterkind is their despair and misery walking around. We do something to their heads, and they die so easily.’ Thunderguts bent down and sniffed Beatrice. ‘For all their guff and nonsense, a human is just an animal clambering in the mud, readying itself to be eaten.’ The ogre king ran a finger over Beatrice’s face and licked the tip. ‘You wouldn’t believe something so fragile could be so dangerous.’

  Sam didn’t understand. He shook his head.

  ‘Souls, they’ve got souls. It’s all right when it’s just the one and it’s your meal, but a lot of them together … deadly. It’s why all those monsters back there can’t look straight at the podium without whimpering. It’s that sword. A sword made of human souls. We touch the sword that killed the Jabberwock and we turn to ash.’

  Sam gasped. The Vorpal Sword had killed the Jabberwock. The one made of souls he’d read about in Daniel’s papers. He remembered. Thunderguts was talking about that sword.

  Thunderguts ignored Sam’s shocked expression. ‘Only a human, or something close, can touch it without suffering. Without a soul that sword burns you up. We tried everything. Dragged a few humans down here to take it away, but they go mad before they die. The last human I got down here lasted just long enough for me to move her like a puppet.’ Thunderguts held up his stone fist. Sam looked closer – no, not a fist, there was a gap through it, where a small arm could fit. ‘A monster touches the sword an’ turns to dust. But holding a human who’s touching it will do this.’

  The ogre king didn’t want to eat him, he just wanted him to move the Vorpal Sword.

  ‘Then the crone suggested we hatch our own monster with a soul to get rid of the sword.’ Thunderguts flashed his fangs.

  A small storm churned in Sam’s belly.

  ‘You’re monster and human, all in one. Tough enough to be near the sword, touch it and not fall apart. You’ve hardly even noticed its power, have you? We feel its hate and loathing like nobody’s business.’ Thunderguts snarled. ‘But once you take it away, we’ll all be free, and you can have anything you want.’