by S J Howland
Mrs Stanton did not let up her brisk pace until they stood once again on the green turf in front of the incongruous stone arch with ‘London’ carved into its apex, the worn letters showing its age. Katie didn’t hesitate for a moment, passing under the arch and vanishing into thin air, and Mrs Stanton followed after her. Xander shook his head, a little incredulous that being propelled inexplicably through space was beginning to feel commonplace to him, and then took the two steps that would take him through the arch.
The great space filled with the cloisters of linked arches had been almost empty the last time Xander stood in it, but at this hour in the morning it was busier. There were crowds of people everywhere, passing through and emerging from the many arches. Here in the city, Xander finally saw more of the non-human residents of Haven, and his eyes were wide as he tried to take everything in.
A family of giants, father, mother, and two children who were bigger than many human adults, passed through one of the larger arches, while a group of small creatures with squashy features and large, long-fingered hands materialised through one arch, pulling large trolleys behind them, before turning and disappearing through another. ‘Gnomes’, supplied the voice of his childhood memories and he watched them in fascination.
Mrs Stanton had paused to wait for him, obviously concerned that he might get lost, and Xander turned and followed her, trying not to gape as they threaded their way through the crowds and headed for a wide street opening out ahead. A young woman walked past, her head bent to speak to the small children holding her hands, with bags of groceries bobbing behind her like ducklings following their mother. She must have sensed Xander’s awed stare because she glanced over and Xander quickly looked away, realising that it would seem odd to gawk at something that was clearly so commonplace. Certainly no one else appeared to think there was anything odd about self-supporting shopping.
They entered the busy street where tall shady trees lined the stone pavement, and store fronts opened out between grand, official-looking buildings, some of which had elaborate name-plates. Slowing his steps, Xander could make out the words on several of them. ‘Guild of Jewellers’ stated an ornate sign next to a heavy-looking door covered with a wrought-iron grille, while from the building marked ‘Musicians’ Institute’ swirling melodies floated down from the open windows, strange but compelling to Xander’s ears. There was so much to see that Xander only belatedly realised that Mrs Stanton had stopped again, looking for him.
‘Come on, Xander, keep up,’ she called when she spotted him, although her smile was understanding.
Xander jogged to catch up with them. ‘Where do we get the orb from?’ he asked curiously. Given his experiences so far, he half-expected to be told that they were heading for some underground lair, where glowing stones were extracted by more mythical creatures from his childhood bedtime stories.
Mrs Stanton gave him a quick sideways smile as if she guessed what he was thinking.
‘From the shop, dear,’ she replied. ‘Right over there.’
She gestured with her free hand, the other being clutched by an over-excited Katie, who was doing a funny half-gallop in her excitement. Xander looked over and saw enormous glass windows glittering with light, extending the entire width of a large and imposing edifice.
‘Thorne Store,’ he read aloud, looking at the tastefully glimmering sign.
‘That whole building belongs to Thorne Industries,’ said Mrs Stanton. ‘It’s all owned by Perrin Thorne, a grossly unpleasant man. He made his name by inventing the coding for synthetic orbs, which could be manufactured cheaply, and used far more easily than traditional ones. He revolutionised the market almost overnight and made a fortune in the process, then he married the only daughter of the Larcius family, one of the Twelve. No question what that match was based on, on either side,’ Mrs Stanton sniffed. ‘He calls himself ‘Larcius-Thorne’ now.’
Xander was only half-listening, mesmerised by the displays in the store window. Orbs of every colour glowed softly on glass shelves, the glitter of their coding subtly illuminated by strategically-angled lights. Many orbs were displayed unmounted, the most beautiful revolving slowly so that their inner facets sent shivering lights across the pristine white backdrops. Others were mounted, ranging from simple and utilitarian-looking bands to wonderfully ornate bracelets, so intricate that they were like pieces of jewellery.
Mrs Stanton smiled indulgently at the sight of Xander and Katie with their noses almost pressed against the glass of the shop window. ‘You know, there are even more if you go inside,’ she said, ushering them both towards the door, before laying a hand on Xander’s arm. ‘It would probably be safer if you don’t touch any orbs this time, dear. We don’t want any awkward questions, or explosions.’ Her expression was sympathetic, but firm.
Xander nodded, suppressing a flash of disappointment, as Katie shot into the shop with an excited squeak. He held the door open for Mrs Stanton, who nodded her thanks as she swept through. Her air of unconscious distinction took no time to have an effect; almost instantly a smartly dressed salesman appeared at her elbow.
‘May I help you?’ he enquired, with a quick glance at Xander. He recovered himself at once as Mrs Stanton propelled the still bouncing Katie forwards.
‘Yes, you may,’ she said briskly. ‘My granddaughter requires her first training band.’
‘Of course,’ said the man, smiling in a rather patronising way at Katie. ‘Please come this way and we’ll begin the fitting process.’
Xander trailed over behind them, curious as to what this entailed. The man handed Katie up onto a stool beside one of the gleaming glass countertops that ringed the store, and then reached beneath it, drawing out a smooth, silvery tablet. It had two hand-shaped indentations in the surface and when he tapped it on the side, it began to emit a blue glow. The man placed it on the counter in front of Katie.
‘Please put your hands on the tablet, palms down, for the assessment process,’ he instructed. Katie, looking very solemn and self-important, placed her hands as instructed and waited expectantly. As Xander watched, the man glanced over at him again and Xander tried to look bored, as if he had seen it all many times. Katie began to giggle, as the light bloomed around her fingers, swirling up and down.
‘That tickles,’ she said.
‘Try to stay still,’ cautioned the man, but he gave Mrs Stanton an indulgent smile, obviously not wanting to offend a customer. At last, the lights stopped pulsing and faded away, and the man glanced at a flat screen mounted under the countertop. ‘Excellent. You can move your hands now.’ He tapped twice on the tablet and it went blank. ‘Your coding will be ready in just a minute,’ he said, sliding the tablet back under the counter. ‘The training orbs are on display over there,’ he gestured towards a section glimmering with orbs in every shade of yellow, and then indicated more displays on the other side of the store, ‘and you’ll find all of our mounting choices over there. I’ll leave you to decide but don’t hesitate to call me if you need assistance.’
With another ingratiating smile at Mrs Stanton, he helped Katie down off her stool and moved back behind the counter, to wait until they called him. Katie danced off towards the displays, beside herself with excitement. As they turned to follow her, Xander took the opportunity to whisper to Mrs Stanton.
‘What does that tablet thing do?’
Mrs Stanton glanced back at the salesman to make sure he was not in earshot.
‘I’m not familiar with all of the technical details, but in essence it analyses your own particular makeup to tailor the coding to you personally. Traditional orbs, like the Travellers use, are often passed down in families but the synthetic orbs are only useful to the person they’ve been coded to.’ Her voice broke off as she spotted Katie, who had ignored the more utilitarian yellow stones and was staring, entranced, at a display of giant, gaudy pink orbs. ‘I’d better head over. I think some guidance is required.’
‘Look at that one,’ Katie bubbled with delight, p
ointing at a mauve monstrosity on an ornate silver band, studded with what looked like little diamonds.
‘Vulgar and completely unnecessary,’ Mrs Stanton said and steered her firmly back to the training orbs.
After a few moments of watching Katie wrestle with the choice of colour, wavering between lemon yellow, tawny or pale straw, while Mrs Stanton tried to be patient, Xander wandered off to look around the store. He saw the salesman’s eyes flicking over to him every now and then, but ignored the scrutiny as he looked through the different collections of orbs, each colour available in many different shades and sizes. They were all highly polished, sparkling with relentless intensity in the clean, bright lighting of the store and, as Katie continued to vacillate, Xander felt the faint twinges of an incipient headache. He glanced out of the window, through the glittering display, and saw a little side-street across the road. A plain wooden sign hung from the wall on the right hand side, swinging gently back and forth in the slight breeze. Driven by a sudden urge to get out of the shop, Xander went looking for Mrs Stanton.
‘Do you mind if I go outside for a bit?’ he asked. ‘I won’t go far, just across the road to get some fresh air.’
Mrs Stanton nodded, looking fraught. ‘Yes, do,’ she said. ‘We’ll meet you in Fountain Square, to the right of here up the road.’ She appeared rather as though she would like to escape along with Xander.
Xander pushed open the tall glass door and the sense of being suffocated began to fade as he breathed in the fresh air. After a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the street and walked into the alleyway, heading for the little shop he had spotted from the store. As he approached, he was struck by the contrast to the place he had left, from the simple hand-painted wooden sign declaring ‘Hob’s Orbs’ to the narrow timber-framed window. Behind the dusty glass sat a wooden mannequin of a wizened little figure with pointed ears and bright yellow eyes, slowly and jerkily twisting the dials of a peculiar metal contraption. Revolving in the heart of the machine was an unpolished, pale-coloured crystal.
Xander wrestled for a moment between curiosity and the certain knowledge that Flint would be annoyed with him for wandering into strange shops. Curiosity won, and he pushed the door open. He heard a bell ring in the distance, but paused in the doorway, wondering if he had made a mistake. There was no merchandise here, nor anything else to indicate that it was a shop. There were no windows, other than the one blocked by the mannequin display, but the room was cosily lit by lamps on the wall and the firestones glimmering in the hearth. Drawn up around the fireplace were several squashy-looking chairs, while the only other furniture was a large desk covered with strange implements and unevenly-shaped lumps of rock. Xander was strongly reminded of the office of a friend of his mother’s, a professor of geology.
He was still hesitating by the entrance when a heavy, metal-clad door at the back of the room swung open, and a small figure emerged in a cloud of fine, white dust. Some of the dust came from the little man’s oversized leather apron, which trailed almost to his feet and was secured by a wide belt wrapped round and round his waist, but most of it was billowing out of the open door behind him. The man had the same pale skin, ruddy cheeks and sharply-pointed ears as the mannequin in the window, and clutched in his small fist was the orb that Xander had destroyed the day before. Xander’s attention was so transfixed by the strange little man that it took him a moment to notice Flint, standing behind the small figure with an exasperated expression on his face.
Xander opened his mouth to speak, but breathed in a lungful of the fine dust and immediately doubled over in a helpless fit of coughing and sneezing. When he had caught his breath and wiped his streaming eyes, the little man had removed his apron and was hanging it on a hook on the door to the back room. He locked the door with a grimace.
‘Apologies,’ he said in a cold, raspy voice. ‘I always forget that the dust is unpleasant if you are not accustomed to it.’
Flint had folded his arms and leant back against the metal-clad door. He did not appear remotely affected by the dust. ‘Is it a compulsion with you?’ he enquired. ‘This inability to actually stay where you’re supposed to be?’
Xander shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the burnt-out orb; he didn’t think Flint really expected an answer. The little man glanced between them, and then looked more closely at Xander. He stiffened and lifted his head, the nostrils in his long, pointed nose flaring as if he was catching some elusive scent.
‘You did this.’ It was not a question. Flint made an impatient movement, but the little man ignored him. His eyes burnt into Xander, taking in every aspect of his appearance. It was an uncomfortable sensation and Xander shuffled his feet, glancing at Flint who remained still, his face impassive.
Xander nodded reluctantly. ‘I didn’t mean to, though. It was an accident.’
‘Please?’ The little man’s eyes were gleaming as he gestured for Xander to sit by the desk. They were a darker shade of yellow than the garish painted eyes on the wooden mannequin, but still like no eye colour that Xander had ever seen before, and there was something else strange about them, something he couldn’t quite identify. Unsure, Xander looked to Flint for some indication whether he should do as he was asked, but the Traveller had walked over to the fireplace and leaned casually against the wall, half-withdrawing himself into the shadows. Xander assumed that meant he should go along with the request, and sat down in the proffered chair. Once he was sitting face to face with the little man, Xander realised with a shock what had been bothering him. The pupils of the curious yellow eyes were not round like his own but slitted, like a cat, making the man’s face seem suddenly predatory and irredeemably strange. Xander gave an involuntary shiver.
‘You have not seen my kind before,’ said the man, a slight smile playing about his lips which did not make Xander feel any more comfortable. ‘Interesting.’ There was a clear insinuation in his words and he glanced over his shoulder at Flint, who didn’t react. ‘We are hobgoblins, the most powerful of goblin-kind. Orbs, and the mineral cores that power them, originated in our knowledge of, and our connection to, the deep earth. But of course, as a child of Haven, you would know this.’ The implication was stronger now, and Xander flushed. ‘You may call me Hob. And what shall I call you?’
‘Xander. Xander King,’ Xander replied. He watched uneasily as the hobgoblin repeated his name silently, his lips twisting as if he were tasting it.
‘Hold out your hands, please. Palms up,’ Hob instructed.
Xander was thoroughly unnerved now, and he suspected that was exactly how the hobgoblin wanted him to feel. He hesitated, and then thrust his hands out in front of him. He had wondered whether the hobgoblin would comment on the bandage on his left hand or react to the wound in the same way that Tavish had done in Mistleberry, but Hob simply reached out with his own thin hands and held them above Xander’s palms, his face intent.
Xander frowned. ‘Do you use those tablet things?’ he asked. He wished he hadn’t spoken when the hobgoblin’s head snapped up, a contemptuous gleam in his eyes.
‘Human props,’ he growled, his voice like a rusty nail. ‘My kind does not require such foolishness.’
He looked for a moment as though he might add something else, but then bent his head back down to concentrate on the almost-joining of their hands. For a moment, nothing happened and Xander wished he had the nerve to ask what was going on, but the silence was too oppressive. Then, in a rush of sensation, Xander felt a sharp tingling in his palms and a second later the space between his hands and the small hovering ones of the hobgoblin filled with a pale, pulsing light. The feeling was not comfortable and clearly nothing like the ‘tickling’ that Katie had giggled over. Xander shifted in his chair, looking up at the hobgoblin’s face, which was twisted with the obvious effort he was expending.
‘Remain still,’ rasped Hob. He continued in a lower tone, as if to himself. ‘You are difficult to read.’
The prickling in Xander’s palms increased and then sp
read, the uncomfortable sensation sweeping up his arms to his shoulders and neck, then along his spine. It crawled on relentlessly until it reached the base of his skull where it halted, as if it could go no further. Xander held himself rigid, his teeth gritted as he battled the urge to snatch his hands away and itch them. Looking around for some distraction, Xander noticed Flint leaning forward, watching this process with a face almost as intent as the hobgoblin. Finally, just as Xander decided that he could not stand the crawling sensation in his neck any longer, it stopped and the hobgoblin withdrew his hands.
‘Interesting,’ he grated under his breath. When he glanced up, he seemed almost surprised to see Xander and Flint both staring at him.
‘So?’ demanded Flint. ‘What’s your assessment?’
He shouldered away from the wall and walked over to the table, towering over the diminutive hobgoblin. Hob looked up at him, his expression closed and unreadable, and then moved to the other side of the table. His hand hovered over its contents for a moment before picking up an uncut crystal and stroking it.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, his eyes never leaving Xander, ‘that I wish to consider this.’
Flint’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s not exactly helpful,’ he growled.
For once, Xander found himself in agreement with Flint’s irritation. He was growing very tired of being kept in the dark about things which obviously concerned him. The hobgoblin looked over at Flint, his eyes hooded and secretive.
‘Helpful,’ he repeated, rolling the word around his tongue as if it was distasteful. ‘Speculation and unconsidered thoughts are unwise. I will speak no further now.’ His tone was firm and quite final.