‘But it’s enormous,’ said Alex.
Arnauld nodded. Alex turned back to him.
‘If it’s a wall,’ he said, ‘then – what’s behind it?’
Arnauld snorted. ‘Isn’t that what we are all trying to find out, Alex?’
A gust suddenly parted the smoke ahead, and without warning the vast shape they had been following was revealed in front of them. Alex gasped. It was an enormous tower, jutting from the jagged rocks ahead like a split in the earth. Its walls were darker and colder and more ancient than the stones they stood on, reaching higher than ten Cloisters Schools stacked on top of one another and running in either direction as far as the eye could see. It was almost impossible to tell if it had been built by something, or if it had just always been there.
‘Oh crikey,’ said Alex. Arnauld trotted past him.
‘See? I told you,’ he muttered. ‘We are almost there.’
25
In the bowels of the zeppelin, a crowd of prisoners lay huddled in wolfskins They sat in silence. No one felt like talking. The only sound was the slow click, click of claws on the metal walkways around them.
‘Why is it so quiet in here?’ said Matthew eventually.
‘It’s the guard wolves,’ said Greg, with a weary sigh. ‘They’re getting hungrier.’
There was a sudden clang of metal, and all the prisoners clutched each other in fright. Then came the now familiar sound of unwinding chains. The prisoners fell silent. The wolves were being swapped over again. Everyone’s gaze slowly returned to the floor.
Everyone except for Martha.
She sat up and watched. She had been watching for a while now. She watched as the wolves from below appeared in their cages once again, water pouring from their black fur onto the metal floor, their shoulders heaving with exhaustion. Her eyes darted from them to the empty cages opposite and back again, her brain whirring. She picked at her new set of teeth thoughtfully. She liked her new teeth. No one else did, but what did they know?
‘Matthew,’ she said, ‘I think I have a pla––’
Matthew didn’t hear her, because at that exact moment he stood up and started shouting.
‘This is ridiculous!’ he roared.
Everyone spun round to face him. Matthew’s eyes flared with anger. He waved his hands at the huddled crowd of broken prisoners before him.
‘Look at us!’ he cried. ‘Have we really come to – to this? We’re just going to sit here and wait until he kills us?’
A guard snorted across the pen. ‘What else can we do?’
‘Anything!’ said Matthew furiously. ‘We can’t just sit here and die, or … or wait for a young boy to get ripped to shreds! Are we really going to let that happen?’
The prisoners looked to the floor in shame.
‘Well, not me,’ said Matthew. ‘I couldn’t live with that. I’d rather die trying to stop it than live with that.’
The prisoners looked up at the man who stood above them. He was thin. He was unshaven. He was rather unfortunately wearing just socks and pants because he had given Martha his wolfskin. But Matthew Price didn’t look like a man in his underpants – he looked like a headmaster. And what’s more, he knew it. He put his hands on his hips and struck a noble pose.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ he said. ‘We have to do something!’
‘Exactly,’ said a voice from the other side of the pen. ‘We have to help Kyte.’
There was a collection of gasps and everyone spun round. From the opposite side of the pen, the Grand High Pooh-Bah stood up. He turned to the crowds with a smirk.
‘You heard what Kyte said, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘If they don’t find Alex, then we all die. So we have to make sure that they do find him! In no time at all we’ll be back home, safe and sound, and all this will be a distant memory.’
There was a round of appalled cries from the prisoners. Matthew shook his head in disbelief.
‘You idiot,’ he cried. ‘You really think Kyte’s going back after this is done? How could he – he’ll have committed murder, for heaven’s sake …!’
The other prisoners muttered in agreement. The Pooh-Bah shifted on his feet.
‘Well, we don’t know that,’ he mumbled weakly. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to kill him. Maybe he just wants to … tell him off. Or something.’
The prisoners snorted with laughter.
‘Well, Pooh-Bah,’ said the bespectacled lady, ‘I can tell you you’re certainly not getting my vote at the next Order election.’
‘Nor mine!’ said the Major, standing to attention. His eyes were suddenly glinting with excitement. He almost looked young again. ‘The Reverend’s right – it’s high time we stood up for ourselves! Show that idiot Kyte who’s boss!’
‘He’s not a Reverend, Major,’ said the bespectacled woman exasperatedly.
‘All we need’, the Major continued, ignoring her, ‘is something for us all to get behind – to lift our spirits! We need … a plan.’
Martha stood up. Her moment had come.
‘I have a plan already!’ she said brightly. ‘We could …’
‘I know!’ interrupted Greg, leaping to his feet. ‘Why don’t we … um …’
He trailed off, looking in vain for a clipboard in his empty hands. Matthew turned to the crowd.
‘You’re right, Major,’ he said. ‘A plan’s just what we need.’
‘I have a plan,’ Martha repeated, slightly annoyed.
‘I know!’ one of the guards cried, getting to his feet and pointing to the Pooh-Bah. ‘Why don’t we use fatty here as bait for the wolves?’
There were a number of jeers from the other guards, and they started creeping over to the Pooh-Bah. He squealed nervously and backed away. Matthew stepped up in front of the guards.
‘Gentlemen, please!’ he said. ‘We can’t waste time arguing and turning on each other. We need to focus on coming up with a plan.’
‘I have a plan,’ said Martha through gritted teeth.
‘Who made you boss all of a sudden?’ the guard snapped, giving Matthew a little push. Matthew frowned.
‘Now, now,’ he muttered. ‘I really don’t think there’s any need for that …’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for your face!’ cried the guard, lunging at Matthew.
In moments all the prisoners were on their feet, throwing punches and rugby-tackling each other. Martha sighed. She took in a deep breath and let rip.
‘QUI – EEEEET!’
Her voice silenced the crowd like an air horn. Martha stood up, her new set of teeth gritted and glinting murderously in the flicker of electric lights for all to see.
‘Good,’ she said calmly. She ran a tongue carefully across her fangs. ‘Now I have your attention …’
The prisoners glanced fearfully at the girl before them with a mouth full of razor-sharp metal wolf’s teeth. Kyte had forced Martha to wear the monstrous paperweight in a bid to get her to talk for her speech. This had, of course, been a disaster. Once she had them in it had taken twelve reluctant guards, and three lost fingers, to drag her down into the kennels. She cast a quick glance over at them. They let go of Matthew and stepped back nervously.
‘I have a plan,’ she said calmly, teeth flashing, ‘to get us all out of here and save Alex.’
The prisoners looked back at her warily. No one said anything.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to hear it?’
One of the guards slowly put his hand up.
‘It doesn’t involve you fighting us again, does it?’ he said.
Martha smiled and waggled her eyebrows. ‘It doesn’t have to,’ she said.
The guards gulped. Matthew stepped forward.
‘Look, let’s just listen to her idea,’ he said. ‘Tell us, Martha – what’s the plan?’
Martha cricked her fingers and placed her hands on her hips.
‘First things first,’ said Martha. ‘We have to get out of this pen and lock Kyte in his qu
arters. That wolf of his, too.’
Everyone looked at each other. Matthew tried not to blink.
‘Er …’ he said. ‘How?’
‘Easy,’ said Martha, pointing to the entrance of the pen. ‘Just run as fast as you can into that door.’
Matthew looked at it. It was solid steel, and looked very hard.
‘Me?’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look like I could knock it down, Martha.’
‘Sure you could,’ said Martha. ‘Just run at it head first.’
‘Oh,’ said Matthew. ‘Well, er … if you say so.’
The crowd behind him parted. Matthew took a few steps back and squared himself up to the door. It still looked very hard. He took in a deep breath and charged.
Several seconds later he was lying flat on his back, gazing at the ceiling as it swam in front of him. Martha’s face appeared in his line of view, her wolf fangs sparkling.
‘It didn’t work,’ said Matthew bluntly.
‘Luckily for you,’ she said, ‘that was part of the plan.’
Everyone froze. The kennels had suddenly become eerily quiet. There was no rattling of claws on the metal floor; no grinding of chains as the wolves tried to escape their harnesses. The only sound was the hungry intake of breath all around them. Matthew brought a hand up to his forehead. A red stain trickled down his fingers.
‘I’m bleeding,’ he muttered.
There was an almighty bang at the door, and everyone looked up. A snout had appeared above the doorway, gulping in great breaths and croaking with hunger.
‘Oh dear,’ said Matthew.
The two guard wolves were frenzying. The flavour of fresh blood was in the air, and they would stop at nothing to get it. They dug their claws under the doorway, howling, throwing their black bodies again and again against the steel door, the scent of blood flickering madly on their tongues. The prisoners flew backwards.
‘You idiot!’ cried Greg. ‘Now you’ve done it! The door won’t hold them!’
Matthew stared groggily at the doorway at his feet. Sure enough, the great steel hinges and locks were beginning to buckle as the wolves outside crashed against it, howling murderously for blood. His eyes widened.
‘Er, Martha,’ he mumbled. ‘I think we might be in trouble.’
He looked over at her. She was calmly standing beside the door, crouched down low, rubbing her hands together.
‘Patience, Matthew,’ she smiled. ‘This is all part of the plan.’
The metal of the door buckled further. Matthew started floundering away from it. ‘Martha, for heaven’s sake get away from –’
With a great bang the lock gave way and the door slammed open. The prisoners screamed and flung themselves against the back wall. At the doorway stood two great wolves, their mouths foaming with hunger, their eyes crazed. They locked their sights straight onto Matthew. Beside them, Martha had crouched down even lower. Matthew’s stomach dropped. She was going to jump.
‘Martha, no –!’
She jumped.
Several astonishing minutes later, the prisoners gazed open-mouthed at the young girl before them. She was standing on top of the slumped bodies of two unconscious wolves, calmly dusting off her hands. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiping a modest amount of sweat off her brow before turning back to them.
‘Right!’ she said jauntily. ‘Anyone here know how to shave a wolf?’
Two men put their hands up.
26
The slimy stone pathway beneath them ended, and the ground became hard and dry and dead. Before them stood the vast black tower, stretching up into the clouds, its top lost to the smoke.
‘Quite something, no?’ said Arnauld.
Alex didn’t reply. All his attention was fixed on the surface of the walls before him. He squinted.
He stepped forwards and ran his fingers over the mass of lines that were carved deep into the stone. They covered the walls from top to bottom in every direction. They were cold to the touch.
‘They’re squiggles,’ said Alex quietly.
Arnauld snorted. ‘Not quite, Alex,’ he said. ‘They are pictures.’
Alex looked up. ‘All of them?’
Arnauld heaved himself up onto his paws and leaned against the wall, pointing to a single carving in the stone.
‘This here,’ he said, circling his claw round the shape in front of him, ‘is the tower. See?’
Alex looked closer at the picture. It showed a tower, black and looming. It was set in a giant ring. Smoke appeared from the top, like a smouldering volcano. Alex looked up above him.
‘That’s where all the smoke comes from?’ he said. ‘From inside it?’
Arnauld nodded. ‘Yes. Now, look at what is next to it.’
Next to the carving of the tower was another shape. Alex ran his finger over it.
‘It’s a man,’ he said.
‘Almost,’ said Arnauld. ‘It is, how you say, a knight. See?’
Alex peered closer. Sure enough, the man had a plumed helmet on his head. He carried a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. He was being fired out of a cannon.
‘It’s … the Order,’ said Alex. ‘Someone from the Order trying to get to the tower. Only …’
‘Only he cannot,’ said Arnauld. He waved his paw to the walls beside them. ‘None of them could.’
Alex looked up, realisation dawning on his face. Next to him was another carving, of a knight on stilts stumbling towards the tower. Beside that, a knight with wooden wings.
‘The Expeditions,’ said Alex. ‘They’re pictures of all the different Expeditions.’
He walked along the wall, gazing at the carvings as they unfolded before him. Each and every attempt to cross the boundary lay before him, a thousand years of failure carved into the tower. They stretched for miles in every direction, spiralling round the entire length of the walls from the top right down to the bottom.
‘And the walls … knew?’ said Alex. ‘They knew that each one would happen all along?’
Arnauld shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Not quite. Each time another attempt is made, the walls keep a memory of it.’
Alex shook his head in disbelief. ‘There must be thousands of them,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know the Order had tried so many times …’
Arnauld snorted. ‘That is because they haven’t, Alex.’
Alex looked at him in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
Arnauld pointed up to the top of the tower. ‘Do those people up there look like they are from the Order to you?’
Alex craned his neck and peered up to where the pictures were almost lost to the smoke. The stone up there seemed older and more weathered, but the pictures were exactly the same. Alex gasped. No, not exactly the same: the people were different. At first they wore suits of armour; then long flowing robes; then furs and skins of animals, and then nothing at all. Their clothing changed more and more the higher he looked, the more ancient the carvings became. Soon they were wearing strange, futuristic costumes that Alex had never seen before, until he couldn’t see high enough to make them out any more.
‘But …’ said Alex. ‘Those must be thousands and thousands of years old. The Order was only founded …’
‘Alex,’ said Arnauld, cutting him off. ‘People have always been trying to find the centre. They have been trying for so long that they cannot even remember when it all started. The walls – only they remember.’
The dog started walking along them, his paw trailing on the stones.
‘And none of them succeeded in getting here?’ said Alex, scampering after him. ‘Not one?’
Arnauld shrugged. ‘There are some who made it to the island,’ he said. ‘A few at most. But they never made it to these walls. Lost in the pathways and smoke. Even if they had made it, then they would have been confronted with the final challenge.’ The dog’s eyes darkened. ‘The Unopenable Door.’
Alex blinked. ‘What’s that?’
The dog turned to look at him. ‘It is a door that ca
nnot be opened, Alex,’ he said shirtily.
Alex blinked. ‘Why have a door if it can’t be opened?’
Arnauld spoke without turning back.
‘These walls are here for a reason, Alex,’ he said. ‘They guard what is in the centre. And the Unopenable Door is the only way of getting through them. Apart from me, only one other person has ever found it.’
‘Who?’ said Alex.
Arnauld suddenly stopped, almost sending Alex sprawling to the floor. He had a single claw placed on the carving beside him. Alex knelt down and peered at it. It lay at the end of the sprawling chain of pictures that spiralled round the walls. It sat just above the ground, before the dirt hid the stones from view. The picture was like all the others. The tower stood in its great circle again, tall and black and unconquerable. Only now, Alex saw, there was a tiny hole carved into its side. He ran his finger around it.
‘The Unopenable Door,’ said Alex.
Arnauld nodded. ‘Yes. And the two beside it?’
Alex looked closer. There were two other shapes beside the tower. One of them was clearly a dog. It was difficult to make out what the other one was. It wore a helmet, and had a long tube stuck out from its back, carved in great curls along the rock behind it.
‘It looks like an alien,’ said Alex.
‘It is not an alien,’ said Arnauld. ‘It is, how you say – an explorer.’
Alex’s eyes widened.
‘Recognise him, Alex?’ said Arnauld quietly.
He moved his claw to the next picture along. Alex gazed along the wall in disbelief. In the next picture, the Unopenable Door had once again been shut. Beside it, the image of a man in a diving suit being dragged backwards by his airpipe was now unmistakable. Alex reached out and touched the rocks.
‘My … my dad,’ he gasped. ‘He found the Unopenable Door.’
‘More than that, Alex,’ said Arnauld. ‘He opened it. The door which no one else could open. Do you understand what that means? In the entire history of the Forbidden Land, your father is the only one to have found a way to get past it and into the centre.’
Alex gulped. ‘So … that’s where he’s going now?’
Alex, the Dog and the Unopenable Door Page 17