Bill slipped along the side of the hut, then turned the corner towards the centre of the camp. Still nothing else moved. He crept along the wall until he reached an opening. The light here was more powerful, so he could see the door that extended at least eight feet from floor to roof. A door made of riveted oak, the sort of door that, when invited to parties, refused all attempts to get it to have a drink and loosen up. It was a door with a mission, and that mission was to keep out unwelcome visitors.
Fortunately, a little further along the wall was a window which, due to its essential nature, was much shallower and entirely transparent. Bill edged up the window wishing evolution had seen fit to give him eyes where his forehead was and peered inside. It was almost entirely dark inside, save for the dim pulsating glow coming from the heads of the three forms that could be barely made out as they sat against the interior walls. He didn’t need light to know what he was looking at - these were robot bodies similar to the one inhabited by Humunculus and there was probably a fourth next to the window he was peering through. Despite his situation, Bill found himself wondering what had become of the Faerie King. He’d last seen the malicious bastard in the Darkworld. Bill had damaged the king’s robot body and seen it fall, but he suspected that wouldn’t be the end of Humunculus. In fact, he rather imagined the Faerie King was once again the ruler of the Darkworld and would be looking for a way to get his revenge on the Brightworld. But that was a threat for another day, or night.
Bill slipped down from the window, crept along the wall and flitted to the next building. The scene inside was exactly the same; three figures slumbering against the walls, all positioned centrally and facing inwards. The third and the fourth huts were identical. So that was 16 robots.
The next hut was different. It was positioned in the centre of the settlement and lights shone from within. With infinite care, Bill peered in through the window and immediately flung himself backwards as something moved in his field of vision. He heard the thump, thump of robotic feet as they proceeded along the other side of the wall. When they’d come to a halt, he took a look through the window.
In the centre of the room was a large, crudely built wooden table with benches on both long sides. Two machines sat on the benches, one on either side and Bill watched as the robot he’d seen moving came back into view and stood at the top of the table, cuboid head bowed and hands pressed together. It looked, for all the worlds, like some sort of religious ceremony.
The figure at the head of the table reached down and lifted a tray on which stood four vessels shaped like wine glasses but made of wood. A vessel was placed in front of the two seated machines and at each end of the table, then the officiating machine took a wooden jug, positioned it over the first vessel and lifted it as if to pour. Nothing came out of the jug and, indeed, Bill could see that it wasn’t even hollow, but this was repeated for each of the four vessels before the machine with the jug replaced it on the tray and removed it from view.
Bill remained at the window, fascinated as he watched this bizarre ceremony. And then there was an instant of pain and blackness.
Chapter 16
ANOTHER EVENING, ANOTHER INN ON the eastern road. Gramma drained her half of stocky and wiped her lips. “I ain’t singin’ no songs, no matter ‘ow much anybody asks me.”
“Well that’s just as well cos no-one is asking,” snapped Mother Hemlock.
The two witches sat with their respective menfolk in a dark corner of The Droopy Dragon, a pub whose only redeeming feature was that it was better than sleeping in a ditch that night. A summer storm had descended from the mountains and had decided that since it was down it was down (and when it had been only half way up, it was neither up nor down). So, any pub in a storm. Even this one.
“It bloody pongs in ‘ere,” Gramma continued. “Our Willy’s the only one what’s not bothered and that’s only because he stank for so many years hisself.”
Mother Hemlock, who was trying hard not to breathe through her nose, nodded. “Well, this here’s the least ‘orrible. It’s a pity Velicity ain’t here, she’d be able to keep the rotten wind away.”
There was a quiet plink followed by a breeze of air so fresh it could have been a unicorn fart. Flem brought his elbow back to the table, revealing the hole into the night that should have been occupied by a filthy square of glass. He shrugged as if suggesting (wisely) that actions spoke louder than words, especially when those words were squeaked out through a pinched nose and a mouth that was trying very hard not to taste the smell in the room.”
“That’s better, thanks cock,” Gramma said. “It were getting to the point where being soaked through were looking better than sittin’ here and trying not to breathe. Now, Jessie, it’s time you told me what you’re plannin’. We’ve done enough galavantin’ and this ain’t the Ballad of Johnny and Clive.31”
Mother Hemlock sighed and then, her decision reached, scanned the room and beckoned the others closer. “It seems to me,” she said, “that we has to choose between holin’ up somewhere or goin’ where we can’t be found.”
“What d’you mean, our Jessie?” Gramma was the sort of person who not only needed information to be served up in small doses, but also with the crust cut off and any chewy bits pre-masticated.
“Well, we could make ourselves a cottage in the deep woods, somewhere up North.”
Gramma shook her head. “Oh no. I ain’t doin’ that. A lickle cottage in the woods is the short road to a lot of cacklin’ and a knock on the door from the pitchfork brigade.”
“But Gramma,” broke in Willy, “you already live in a cottage in the woods, don’t you.”
Beneath the table, Badger covered his eyes.
“Now you hold your tongue, Stinky Willy, on matters what are above your nation,” the old woman said, wagging her finger while her brain tried desperately to formulate a response. “I do live in a cottage in the woods, but folk know that if they turns up to my door with any mecal implements, they’ll get such a leatherin’ they won’t be able to sit down for months.”
Willy’s face creased so deeply that his side whiskers looked in danger of colliding. He looked at the old woman and saw all the explanation he needed in her caustic glare. “Oh,” he said. “Right.”
“So are you suggestin’ that we should move to some other country then?” Gramma asked. “‘Cos I ain’t really ‘appy with that neither. I don’t mind a bit of seaside, but I draw the line at goin’ abroad. The food’s funny and there’s too many foreigners for my liking.”
Mother Hemlock shook her head. “I ain’t talkin’ about goin’ abroad. I’m talkin’ about goin’ beyond.”
There was silence as Gramma’s watery eyes narrowed. The silence continued.
“I mean we’re goin’ to follow young Bill, cos I’m pretty certain that’s where he’s gone.”
“What, into the Darkworld?” interrupted Flem Hemlock who’d sat unregarded beside the damaged window.
“Yes, and then beyond it,” his wife said.
“Are you bloody mad?” Gramma said, finally finding something concrete to object to. “Firstly, we can’t get into the Darkworld. Secondly, we can’t survive there and Thirdly we don’t even know how to get to the Beyond once we do. And nextly, what the bloody hell is the Beyond anyway? All I know is that the lickle elf came from there.”
Mother Hemlock wagged her finger at Gramma. “Look, you can call it intuition if you like…”
“Well I certainly weren’t goin’ to call it that,” Gramma said, not least because she wasn’t entirely sure what intuition was. In her simple world view, she did things because she wanted to or had to. She didn’t waste time trying to work out what her subconscious was trying to tell her because she didn’t have one. Gramma was the embodiment of the famous northern saying “take me as you find me32 - as one dimensional as a straight line.
“...but I reckon I knows someone who might be able to help us. I thought he were long dead, and then this turned up a few weeks back.” M
other Hemlock reached theatrically into her cardigan and withdrew an envelope. She pulled out a sheet of crumpled paper and flattened it on the table.
Gramma squinted at the paper. “What the bloody ‘ell is this? It looks Foolish33 to me.”
“No, it’s a cipher, a secret message you can only work out if you knows the key.”
“Who’d be sendin’ you a secret message?” Gramma said.
There was a grunt from the window as Flem Hemlock shifted uncomfortably.
Jessie flushed. “Well, let’s just say I knew this man in my younger days and we worked out a way to send each other messages under the noses of them what didn’t want us talkin’.”
“Oh very interestin’,” Gramma said with relish. “I’d almost forgotten a time when young Jessie Cobb was the talk of the mountains. Wore the elastic out of her knickers, I heard.”
Jessie Hemlock thumped her fist on the table. “Them’s lies,” she said, “I was popular with the menfolk, it’s true, but I never did nothin’ I’m ashamed of and I found out, in the end, the sort of man what was good for me.”
“Pity you didn’t find ‘im before you married me.” Flem Hemlock pushed himself up. “Come on,” he said, pulling a relieved Willy Clitheroe up out of his seat, “this ain’t talk for us. I’m sure they’ll remember we’re here when it comes to carryin’ the baggage tomorrow. Till then, I intend to have a few more pints.” The two men stalked off to the bar and sat with their backs to the women.
“Bit of a sore point?” Gramma said.
Jessie Hemlock’s face had lost all its usual animation and her blue eyes seemed to have dimmed a little. “You could say that. But this is bigger than me and that great lummox at the bar. Look ‘ere, this message uses the ancient runes of Kosh - the old folk who built the stones.
“So what does your old boyfriend say?”
Jessie sighed. “He says he can help, and that I can find him where we last met.”
“And where were that?”
“Hanger’s Copse, away up to the north of Montesham. A place I vowed never to go again.”
Gramma, with all the self restraint of a curious toddler in a sweet shop, leaned in closer. “Why didn’t you want to go back?”
She didn’t expect to get an answer. Having spent years in the company of Jessie Hemlock, she knew that when she pushed just a little too hard, the iron shutters would come down and she’d get no more from her. So she was surprised when her sister witch responded. “Cos I begged ‘im, Gramma, and he walked away. That were the day I became who I am. I walked back home and told ma I’d go to the farmer’s market with her, and it were there that I met my Flem.”
“So you were on the rewind? That’s dangerous, Jessie, very dangerous.”
Jessie Hemlock looked up, tears blurring her vision. “Yes, and it weren’t fair to Flem. But, somehow, it worked out and he’s the best man I ever met, bar none.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re right there, cock, but goin’ to see this old flame is even dangerouser, in my book.”
“I don’t have no choice. Bad times are comin’, we’ve just seen the first signs. If young Chortley is to be believed, his sister is the darkest thing to come out of that family in centuries, and that’s sayin’ a lot. She has power, and she’ll do all she can to hold onto it, including eliminatin’ any who might threaten her. And that means her brother and it means us.”
Gramma shrugged. “Well, it don’t sit right with me, all this skulkin’ around. I reckon I could deal with this girl and them what’s behind her easy enough.”
“Maybe,” Jessie said, “but how many others would get hurt? The likes of her will hide behind the innocent and blame us for any harm that comes to them. She’ll raise the country against us and get the people to do her dirty work, and they’ll only realise their mistake once we’re gone and she can rule unopposed. No, we has to hide until the time is right. We has to go to the Hanging Tree and meet Ignis Bel.”
Chapter 17
ALL BILL COULD SEE WHEN he opened his eyes were the heavy rafters of the roof above him and the deep, spider-filled, shadows beyond. The acrid smell of machine oil caused his nose to wrinkle as full consciousness returned. He tried to sit up, his head swimming as he put his hand down to steady himself.
“Be still for a moment.” The voice was metallic, but somehow managed to convey a human quality of, it seemed to Bill, regret and concern.
He opened his eyes again and looked around. He’d been placed on the table, the goblets having been scattered to the floor. Three machines stood around him, a fourth was at the door, looking out through a small crack.
“I am sorry for your pain. My husband is not a gentle man and he was feared that you would cry out. To do that would be to die. You and us.”
Bill put his hand to his head and winced as his fingers found the sore lump. “Who are you? What is this place?”
“We will answer,” said the machine, “but first we must sit as if we are recycling so that any who pass our home will think nothing is amiss. You may hide under the table and we shall talk. Then you must go.”
The machine helped Bill down and arranged the furniture so that Bill could sit hidden among the chair legs once the candles were extinguished. He watched as the door was closed and the four figures each went to one of the walls where a small brass plate was set a couple of feet from floor level. Each machine sat, their movements accompanied by the sounds of metal joints sliding and hissing, until, suddenly, there was silence. Bill knew the scene well enough from all those huts he’d passed before finding this one - anyone who chanced to look in would see nothing out of the ordinary here.
Silence and darkness fell as Bill sat beneath the table. It became so quiet that he could hear his ears whistling. And then he heard a whispering sound that, after a few moments, he realised was his name being repeated, each time a little louder.
“Yes, I can hear you,” he said, speaking as quietly as possible.
“You come from our world, our home, do you not?” The voice was coming from one the larger figures to his right and he turned towards it. In the deep darkness he could see the glow on its chest slightly pulsate as it spoke.
Bill nodded, pointlessly. “Yes, I was abducted from a farm near the stones. In Fitzmichael County.”
“I do not know it,” said the voice, “I was born and grew up in Varma and never travelled north. It may sound odd, but I am not what I appear.”
“I know, I have seen another like you. Your body is made of metal and wood, but inside dwells a human soul.”
The glow intensified, as if it reflected the emotional state of the machine. “You have no idea what a relief it is to realise that someone other than ourselves knows of our true nature.”
Bill shifted uncomfortably beneath the table. “I know more than that, I saw one of you being, um, created, in the laboratory of Minus.”
“MINUS!” roared the machine and then, realising the noise it had made, it looked to the window. “I am sorry,” it whispered, “I hope my outburst does not bring calamity, but you must tell me how you know of Minus the Dark.”
“He fooled me, and others, into helping him. We were trying to stop a faerie king called Humunculus from being brought back to life and we thought he was on our side. But, all along, he’d wanted to put the king’s spirit into a machine and use it to gain control of the Darkworld. We couldn’t stop him, though I disabled Humunculus. I don’t know what became of him.”
All four machines lit up, their chests pulsating. The one who’d been talking turned its head towards him. “He is here. Run.”
Bill crawled out from under the table, banging his head in his haste, adding another headache to the one he was already suffering from. There was no time for questions, they could come later, for now all he could do was run as fast as he could and hope the king, wherever he was in this settlement, didn’t catch him.
He sprang for the door and flung it open.
“Ah, how very delicious,” boomed the voice of H
umunculus, the Faerie King.
Chapter 18
THE FIRST HINTS OF LIGHT crept under the door as Bill awoke. He’d been thrown into a timber shed near the entrance to the settlement, the door had been slammed shut and he’d been left. It seemed that the overnight recharge was so essential that it couldn’t be skipped, even when there was gloating to be done.
Bill lay on the dusty wooden floor, his hands and feet tied, his head throbbing and his heart heavy. Of all the outcomes to his infiltration, this had been the least expected. The last time he’d encountered the Faerie King, Bill had crippled the machine containing his evil soul and left it collapsed on the grey soil of the Darkworld. How had it been repaired? How had he found his way to the Beyond? How had he taken over this settlement? Well, that last question, at least, was easy enough to answer. Being a twisted bastard seemed to be the main qualification for leadership so he’d have found it easy to take control once he’d found this community.
And so Bill lay there as the sun rose outside, waiting for the sounds of the machines rising to join the scurrying of the local vermin. Soon enough, the door would swing open and he’d be dragged to his audience with Humunculus. Probably a final audience. Bill very much doubted the Faerie King would be stupid enough to unbind his hands, which had been tied palm to palm so that he couldn’t generate a fireball without incinerating himself.
No, he’d die in an alien world and those he loved would never know what had happened to him. What would his dad think? Blackjack hadn’t been the same since the battle of the stones and the loss of Bill would surely be the last straw. And Brianna? Where was she? What was she doing? Was she missing him? Was he missing her? Yes, that he could answer. He wished with all his heart he could see her again and bitterly regretted his reluctance on their wedding day. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed.
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