by S J Howland
‘Move,’ he snapped without preliminaries, gesturing towards the door. Xander hesitated and the boy muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath, before grabbing Xander by the arm and shoving him towards the doorway. Xander instinctively pulled back. He was getting very fed up with being yanked around today.
‘Get off me,’ he snapped, jerking his arm away and glaring at the figure standing over him. The boy appeared to be a few years older than Xander, in his late teens, but the strangest thing about him was his face. It was oddly blurred so that Xander could not make out his features, although there was a hint of vivid eyes. The boy made another impatient noise and turned his obscured face away from Xander’s scrutiny.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he snarled. ‘If you want to meet Flint, come now. Otherwise, I’m out of here.’ His blurred face twisted with contempt as he said the name and he barely waited a moment before turning away. ‘Your choice.’
Xander hesitated for only a moment, and then chased after him.
‘Wait,’ he called. ‘I’m coming.’
Charging through the doorway, he almost fell headlong down a flight of stone steps, spiralling downwards. The boy scarcely turned his head to acknowledge Xander following but, with lightning-fast reflexes, he threw out a hand to check Xander’s fall. Xander noticed a twisted silver ring on the middle finger of the hand which gripped his arm for an instant.
‘Where are we going?’ Xander panted.
‘Out,’ was the terse reply.
The staircase was both steep and worn, and Xander was concentrating so hard on keeping his footing he stumbled again when they reached the bottom, and he was on level ground. When he looked up he saw a long hallway with many doors opening off it, currently empty of other people. The boy stopped and pulled Xander around to face him, his eyes running up and down, evaluating. Xander stared back at him, blinking as he tried to penetrate the strange blurriness of the boy’s face.
‘You’ll just about pass,’ the boy said curtly, although his gaze lingered with a frown on Xander’s tatty old trainers.
‘Pass for what?’ asked Xander.
The boy ignored him, crossing over to a small wooden door at the end of the corridor. He glanced around and then undid the bolts at the top and bottom with a furtive air. When Xander just stood there, the boy waved him over with an impatient look.
‘Out here, I’ll shut it after you.’ He glowered at Xander, hostility in his whole demeanour. ‘And you can tell Flint from me he can clean up his own messes in the future.’
Xander still hesitated. ‘Is this the way out of the museum?’ he asked.
‘Wait out there. That’s all I know.’ The boy glanced over his shoulder, as if he had heard something. ‘Out,’ he snapped.
He gave Xander a sharp shove, which sent him tumbling through the doorway, and slammed the door. Xander heard the bolts being drawn again, and then silence.
*
Uncertain, Xander stood in the dim alleyway, still shaken enough not to appreciate its deserted air. He noticed several more doors, all closed; some were larger than the one he had exited through and one was unfeasibly small. He edged backwards against the solid stone wall and tried hard not to imagine movement in the shadows further along the alley.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he told himself after a few minutes, sternly and only a little shakily. He was skulking in an alleyway which was probably right next to the British Museum. The events of the past day were so unbelievable that Xander began to doubt his own sanity. With sudden decision, he shoved away from the wall and marched up the alleyway towards the puddle of sunlight at the end. Stepping out, the bright light was momentarily dazzling and he paused, blinking until he could see again.
Opening out before him was a wide square, bounded by enormous, stately-looking buildings built from a golden-white stone which shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Large ornamental trees, covered with flowers, stood around the square and in the centre was an ornate fountain, sending jets of water high into the air before splashing back into the pool below, a thousand rainbows glistening above it. The sky was a deep, cerulean blue and the air itself seemed to sparkle. There were people everywhere, walking alone or in groups, or sitting on the intricately-wrought white benches. Many of them would not have drawn a second glance in London; others, however, would have caused a riot.
Xander stared wide-eyed as some of the flowers launched themselves into the air, swirled in a kaleidoscope cloud of vivid colours and darted past him; flashes of tiny forms with streaming long hair and fine, gauzy wings. Two huge figures, at least twelve feet tall with wild bushy hair and craggy faces, crossed the pavement in front of him, their rumbling voices resonating in Xander’s bones; following behind them lumbered a stoop-backed creature with rough greyish skin and a vacant expression. Xander heard a rushing noise in his ears and cold sweat broke out again down his back, as he stood stock-still and gaped.
‘Are you all right, mate?’
The harsh voice came from the level of Xander’s waist. He dropped his gaze slowly, until he met the concerned brown eyes of a small, bearded man; a groan of disbelief escaped Xander’s mouth. Clearly visible amidst the man’s curly hair were two little horns. Xander backed away, his shaking hand clamped over his mouth.
‘I only asked,’ growled the man, offended. ‘No need to be rude. Don’t know why I bothered – your kind are all the same. Typical. Just asking a question, showing concern –’
The little man marched off indignantly, his grumbling voice fading as he moved away. Hanging out of the man’s coat, and swaying as he walked, was a short, tufted tail.
Xander backed into the relative normality of the alleyway, his legs shaking. Maybe he was having a nervous breakdown. Or else he had tripped over and hit his head during the school trip and had hallucinated everything; that was a more likely answer. Probably he was lying on the floor of the museum right now, unconscious, while Mr Tubner lectured the class on how first aid had advanced through the centuries. Xander hoped someone had called an ambulance and that it would get there soon. Leaning back against the cool stone wall, he closed his eyes and banged his head, twice.
‘What are you doing now?’
The hard voice was only too familiar and Xander’s eyes flew open to meet the accusing stare of the crop-haired man, Flint. He stood in front of Xander with a look of suspicion on his face.
‘Trying to wake up,’ replied Xander in a shaky voice. ‘I’m hallucinating, I think.’
‘Hallucinating?’
‘Aren’t I? I saw what’s out there,’ Xander said, gesturing wildly towards the square. ‘There are flying things and – tails. I must have hit my head, or else I’ve lost my mind.’
Flint eyed him for a moment, his face looking like he was having an internal argument. Finally he sighed and shook his head with a rueful expression.
‘You really don’t know about any of this, do you?’
‘NO!’ It came out in a near-shout, all of Xander’s fear and confusion expressed in one desperate word. He pressed back against the wall as if it was his only refuge and his injured hand throbbed; drawing in a long, shaky breath, he stared at the ground. He had spent far too much time in the last twenty-four hours backed up against walls as reality lost its mind.
‘This is no hallucination, kid. It’s very real.’ Flint’s voice was still abrupt, but there was a tinge of sympathy in his tone which brought Xander’s gaze back up to his face.
‘Where am I, then?’ he demanded in an unsteady voice.
‘London,’ Flint responded. At Xander’s disbelieving look he shrugged, and conceded – ‘in a manner of speaking.’ He nodded towards Xander’s left hand. ‘You’re hurt.’
Xander held it out, keeping his eyes averted. He felt Flint take his hand, turning it so he could examine his palm.
‘This needs treating,’ he said. ‘Where we’re going they can take care of it.’
‘Going?’ Xander looked up with a surge of panic. ‘Where are we going
? I just want to go home.’ His voice wobbled and, right at this moment, Xander did not care.
Flint shook his head, his expression closed. ‘After what we saw back there, it’s not safe to send you back right now. There’s something odd going on and, until we get to the bottom of it, you’re staying here where we can keep an eye on you.’ His tone indicated that there was no further discussion required.
Xander disagreed and opened his mouth to argue, but Flint had turned away with guarded relief as two people appeared at the top of the alleyway. Xander recognised the small redheaded woman from the museum; standing next to her was a stocky boy of Xander’s age with tousled, sandy-coloured hair.
‘Stopped for a picnic, Ari?’ queried Flint, a sarcastic twist to his voice.
Ari smiled back at him, unflustered. ‘Got held up by the old shrew at the Halls while I was springing Ollie.’ She walked straight over to Xander, her hand outstretched in friendly greeting. ‘Hi. We didn’t get a chance before to introduce ourselves. I’m Ariel.’ She grinned, her freckled nose wrinkling. ‘My mum was a bit whimsical about names – she called my sister Calypso, so I suppose it could have been worse.’
Disarmed by her warmth after so many unpleasant shocks, Xander reached out to shake her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm for such delicate fingers, and it was impossible not to respond to her infectious friendliness.
‘Xander,’ he said, feeling tongue-tied but Ari just turned to wave over the boy, who had been standing eying Xander’s trainers with a puzzled expression. ‘This is Oliver Stanton. Ollie, meet Xander.’
The boy held out his hand, with a look of mingled awkwardness and curiosity, but his clear blue eyes were friendly and when Xander shook his hand, his face relaxed into a cheerful grin.
‘Always happy to skip out of the most boring lesson of the week,’ he said genially. ‘So thank you for that.’
Xander felt a quick smile pull at his lips, thinking of Mr Tubner.
‘You’re welcome, I guess,’ he replied.
While the two boys spoke, Ari and Flint had been exchanging a few terse words, and now Flint nodded and gestured peremptorily to the two boys.
‘We’ll head out,’ he told Ari. ‘You go to the debriefing and I’ll join you when I can.’
‘Do I mention –?’
Ari glanced at Xander, who stiffened. Flint shook his head.
‘Not in public for now. That’s why we’re going to Woodside. I’ll fill in the Wardens later.’
Ari nodded and then winked at Xander. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ she said with that quirky grin. ‘Try to stay out of trouble.’
Before Xander could respond, she had walked jauntily out of the alleyway and disappeared around the corner into the square. Xander eyed Flint.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded. ‘And who are you people? You don’t understand – I need to get home.’ His last words had come out sounding rather unsteady, so he took a deep breath and glared at Flint.
Flint was entirely unmoved. He eyed Xander and then spoke in an even voice. ‘You detonated shade-strike with your bare hand, the moment you left the museum all of the shades disappeared, my ward had no effect on you and, to top it off, you travelled here with no training and using a broken and obsolete Stone. Until I get an explanation for all that, you’re staying right here.’
Xander gaped at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ollie, his mouth also open in stunned surprise. Flint’s intimation that those terrible things in the museum had been targeting him sent unease crawling over his skin.
‘I don’t know about any of that stuff,’ he said in desperation. ‘I just want to go home – my mother will call the police if I don’t turn up.’ Xander tacked on the last part purely as a threat. He strongly suspected that he could be gone for quite some time before it occurred to his mother that she hadn’t seen him for a while.
Flint seemed undisturbed by this. ‘No, she won’t. You’re not missing,’ he replied coolly. Xander stared at him in disbelief but Flint made an impatient gesture with his hand. ‘Whether or not you understand, the fact remains it’s not safe for you to return.’
Xander felt his arguments drying up as he remembered what he had been running from. Correctly taking his silence as acquiescence, Flint nodded.
‘This isn’t the place for discussing this, anyway,’ he said curtly.
Eying Xander’s pale face and with a quick glance at his injured hand, Flint jerked up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing the metal band on his wrist that Xander had seen in the museum, with a large clear crystal set in it. The band itself was a dull black metal, with no obvious joins; Xander wondered how it came off. It was the first time he had seen one of the strange stones close up and he noticed that there were odd flickers deep inside it, like contained lightning. He swallowed, but could not help a surge of the same curiosity that had got him into this trouble in the first place. Idiot, he told himself.
‘We’re going to jump. Take my arm and don’t let go,’ Flint cautioned.
The boy, Ollie, stepped forward and gripped Flint’s arm with the ease of familiarity. Xander noticed he also wore a band around his wrist but narrower, made of a grey, pitted metal. Unlike Flint’s band, this stone was a dull opaque yellow and there was no life in it. Xander realised that both Flint and the boy were staring at him, waiting; he hesitated, and then reached out to put his hand on Flint’s outstretched arm.
This time, there was no explosion. It felt like missing a step while running downstairs – an instant of disorientation and a lurch of his stomach, over as soon as it began. He had automatically closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was no longer in the alleyway.
They now stood on the edge of another open place amidst tall buildings, but that was where the similarities ended. Running through the centre of the space, looking like nothing so much as the displaced cloisters of a giant cathedral, were two long lines of linked stone arches, each row curving at the end to meet the other. The arches were not of a uniform size, some much larger and others smaller but the weathered grey stone hinted at their great age. All of this Xander took in with wide eyes before he realised that he was still gripping Flint’s arm. He took a step backwards.
‘How did we get here?’ he demanded.
‘Jumped,’ Flint replied. ‘There are limitations but it’s useful. I thought you could do without further exposure to flying things and tails.’
He raised an eyebrow, making Xander flush, before turning and striding towards the arches with Ollie at his heel. Xander took a breath and then followed them.
He had gone only ten paces when he froze, staring in disbelief. He would not have supposed, if he had stopped to consider it, that this day could bring him any more shocks, but the sight of two people materialising out of empty space under one of the arches was still enough to leave him incredulous. Xander understood that he himself had twice been dragged inexplicably through space, but it was quite another thing to see it happen before your eyes and in such a casual, everyday manner. The two women, chatting unconcernedly, crossed the street and disappeared, in a more prosaic fashion, down one of the many side-streets. Xander stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the archways. They looked much more threatening now that he suspected Flint intended to make him go through one.
Flint glanced over his shoulder, then turned back, clearly annoyed to see Xander standing rigid in the middle of the street. He gestured sharply, and Xander edged forward a few more steps.
‘Could you try not to draw unnecessary attention to yourself?’ Flint snapped, his eyes flicking around the many windows overlooking them.
Xander glowered at him. He felt his behaviour was quite reasonable, given that his strongest desire currently was to continue banging his head against a wall until he achieved that concussion.
‘What are those?’ he asked, with suspicion.
‘These are just the South Gates.’ It was Ollie who answered him, his voice reassuring although he looked puzzled by Xander�
�s confusion. ‘That’s how we get places, since the rest of us can’t just jump around the place.’
‘I already told you, that has limitations. Travellers often use the gates too, as you should well know,’ interrupted Flint. ‘Now, if you two have finished your little chat, do you think we can go? We can finish this conversation later.’
Without waiting for an answer he strode off, leading them along the nearside row until they reached one of the smaller arches, where he clasped Xander’s shoulder in a firm grip. Xander was not sure whether this was for reassurance or to prevent him bolting. As they stepped forward together, Xander glanced up at the apex of the arch and saw, carved in deep but worn lettering, the word ‘Wykeham’.
He felt a slight chill run over his body as he took the first step through the archway; his second step took him out onto soft grass. Before he could react, Flint tugged him away from the gate, then let go of his shoulder. Xander spun around and stared at the small stone arch, looking even more incongruous rising out of what appeared to be a neatly-tended village green. As he watched, Ollie appeared and strolled forward to join them.
‘Where are we now?’ demanded Xander, looking around as if clues might be hanging in the air. It was a very disconcerting feeling to have no idea where two footsteps might have taken him.
‘Wykeham,’ said Flint. He caught Xander’s confused expression and relented. ‘It’s near your Winchester.’
‘Winchester!’ Xander did some hurried calculations. ‘But that must be almost fifty miles.’
‘Sixty-one. Now let’s go,’ Flint said, clearly intending to pre-empt any further questioning. He marched away across the grass. Xander took one last look at the arch and noticed that on this side the word ‘London’ was carved into the apex. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned and followed Flint.
The green was surrounded on three sides by quaint-looking cottages with wildly blooming front gardens behind low stone walls. Xander eyed the blossoms warily as they passed, in case they suddenly transformed into impossible flying creatures. The fourth side was bounded by a small river which bubbled briskly along, crossed by a low stone bridge, while ducks and swans paddled serenely on the water. The appearance of calm normality did not comfort Xander in the slightest; he stared down into the water as they crossed and wondered darkly what might be looking back at him from the depths.