CHAPTER 7
SHADOW KNIGHTS
s he slowly groped his way toward wakefulness, Sagandran couldn’t think what the smell was, at first. Boiling tar? No. Overheated dirty laundry? No, but closer to the mark. Ah, yes. It was burning sugar.
He couldn’t think why someone would be setting sugar on fire at this time of the morning, but it didn’t seem terribly important as he turned over in his comfortable bed, pulling the bedclothes over his head to blot out the irritating glow of bright sunlight through his eyelids, kneading his pillow with his face as he sank back toward …
Where was he? The question obtruded itself just ahead of an onrushing wall of dreams.
Wonderville, that was right. The Hotel Chortle, to be precise.
Safe and secure in his bed. Surrounded by the stout walls of Mayor Lamarod’s prize hotel. Stout walls made of …
He was hammering on the door of Perima’s bedroom before he realized he’d got out of bed.
“Something’s terribly wrong,” he yelled as he stumbled in.
“You’re not properly dressed,” she said primly, sitting up in bed with the blankets tucked around her chin.
“Look out the window.”
“No need to bother about modest—”
“No, really, look out the window.”
“What’s that frightful stink?”
“Wonderville. It’s on fire!”
Through the window, they could see pillars of smoke rising into the morning sky. They’d slept later than they thought. The sun was well above the horizon, peering at them through the swirling smoke. For a split second, Sagandran had the illusion that it was wrinkling up its face and coughing.
“We better get out of here,” snapped Perima, leaping from her bed and grabbing the garments she’d left folded neatly on the bedside chair. The tiny part of Sagandran’s mind that was not filled with panic thought of the way his own garments were strewn all over his bedroom floor.
“Hurry,” she cried. “We’ll be safer out in the open.”
As if in acknowledgement of her words, a lick of eager flame flickered up from beneath the window ledge.
Sagandran dressed in a blur. By the time he staggered back into the sitting room, Perima was already there, impatient to go.
They scampered into the corridor. There was no question of using the elevator. There was no question of even getting anywhere near it. A scrum of other hotel guests, all shouting and shrieking, was thick around its doors. Besides, who wanted to be trapped in an elevator if the whole place went up in flames?
“This way,” Perima shrieked above the hubbub, addressing the other guests. She pointed to the far end of the corridor where a big red sign said:
in between schematized pictures of an elephant’s rear end and an exploding ice cream. The pictures didn’t seem at all comical just then.
Perima and Sagandran thundered along the corridor’s candyfloss carpeting at the head of a crowd of terrified people. Throwing open the fire door, they looked down into the stairwell. Below, there was pandemonium. Obviously, they weren’t the only ones who preferred the fire stairs to the elevators. A seething mass of bodies were all pushing at each other as a sluggish tide of humanity pressed on downward. Other people were joining it from above. But at least they were moving downward.
The next ten or fifteen minutes seemed like the longest minutes of Sagandran’s life. He lost Perima a couple of times when her hand was wrenched out of his, but eventually they rejoined each other. He tried shouting encouragement to her, but in the narrow confines of the stairwell the din of everyone else’s consternation was too loud for her to hear him.
They were finally in the lobby. It was also crammed with struggling people. Someone had trampled the Hotel Chortle’s main doors flat, and the mob was pouring out through the gap. Chimps were rushing around the fringes of the crowd trying to bring a semblance of order to events, but without success. Sagandran put his shoulders down and pushed himself and Perima forward as best he could.
The air was thick and choking with smoke in the street outside. Perima doubled over coughing. Sagandran rummaged through his pockets for a handkerchief to give her. Yesterday’s merrymakers were running in all directions at once, filling the air with shrieks. Most were dressed in festive garments they must have gotten in the stores here in Wonderville. There were clowns, pierrots, pink dinosaurs, vampires and other costumes that Sagandran couldn’t identify. The fancy dress made the whole scene seem even more pathetic, somehow.
Fire engines manned by stern-faced chimps were trying to push their way through the bustle. As Sagandran watched, one of the crowd threw up his arms with a scream of horror and vanished beneath a vehicle’s wheels.
“We’ve got to get off the main thoroughfare,” he bellowed at Perima.
Eyes streaming above the handkerchief pressed to her face, she nodded and followed him as he groped his way along the stickily-hot front wall of the Hotel Chortle. The fire seemed to be burning somewhere above them. There were no signs of burning at ground level, though that couldn’t last forever Sagandran thought grimly. Sooner or later, once the upper stories had been devoured, the flames would creep downward.
He dived into the mouth of an alleyway, tugging Perima after him. The way ahead of them was empty except for tumbled dustbins and heaps of discarded junk. Even somewhere as organized as Wonderville had garbage. They jogged as quickly as they could along the alley, trying not to trip over broken furniture and mysteriously bulging sacks containing who knew what.
The street at the end was a lot less populated than the one they had left. Running between the back of the Hotel Chortle and another similarly huge building, the street looked as if it were normally used only by tradesmen and maintenance crews. A few people were fleeing along it, but they were outnumbered by chimpanzee stewards, most of whom appeared to be holding panic at bay.
Sagandran grabbed one of the chimps by the arm as she ran by him. “What’ happening?”
The chimp paused and put her hands on her knees, giving vent to a storm of coughing. “Fire,” she explained, once she had her voice under control. She made to run onward.
“We can see that!” exclaimed Sagandran. “But how? Why?”
“Bad men. Evil men.” There was another smaller burst of coughs. “Men in shining suits of silver armor. They took Lamarod away to question him, they said.” The chimp leaned against the wall and shook her head sadly. “Then they lit brands and started putting everything to the torch. Some of the stewards tried to stop them.” She rubbed tears away from her eyes with the inside of her wrist. “They were chopped down where they stood. Evil men. Murderers.”
“Shadow Knights,” hissed Perima.
Sagandran nodded as the chimp again tried to flee off on whatever task they’d interrupted.
“Just one more thing.”
The steward tried to pull herself free. “Gotta go. Fires to fight. Lives to save.”
“Where did they take the mayor?”
“The Tunnel of Love.” The chimp’s mouth twisted. “A sick joke. They thought it was hilarious.”
This time, she succeeded in getting away.
“We’ve got to try to help him,” said Sagandran as they watched the chimp’s receding back.
“Yes,” said Perima.
No other discussion was needed.
Finding their way from here to the Tunnel of Love was both easier and more difficult than it had been the day before, when the streets had been filled with slow-moving pleasure-seekers. Some of the roads they dashed along were nearly empty save for the ubiquitous chimps. The larger thoroughfares, however, tended to be jammed with mindlessly milling tourists. Perima and Sagandran soon became adept at finding smaller roadways parallel to these.
At last, they were at the corner where a side street joined the little square where the entrance to the Tunnel of Love stood. The great sign over the opening of the tunnel was smoke-blackened, and a couple of Shadow Knights were standing guard. They were smiling like genial eld
er brothers, as if all they really wanted to do was find an old lady they could help across the street, but they held tightly onto the pommels of the swords at their belts and bespoke their readiness to move into instant, lethal action.
“How the heck are we going to get past them two?” muttered Sagandran. Those smiles seemed to be freezing the blood in his heart.
“With difficulty,” said Perima. The obvious reply. For once, it wasn’t a joke. “Look, Sagandran, let’s get one thing clear between us.”
“Yeah?”
“We want to get the mayor out of their clutches, no argument, but that isn’t the most important thing we have to do.”
“Can you imagine what they’re putting him through right now, while we’re standing here chatting on a street corner?”
“I’m trying not to imagine that. He may be a pain in the rear, but he certainly doesn’t deserve to be suffering the ‘questioning’ of the Shadow Knights. Even so—”
Then Sagandran realized what she was trying to say.
“Even so,” he continued for her, speaking the words she didn’t want to, “the most important thing is to keep ourselves out of their clutches.”
“Not even that,” she said, drawing herself up to full height. “It’s you they mustn’t get their hands on. You and the crystal. We can’t throw away the future of Sagaria and the Earthworld for the sake of just one man.”
And just one girl, she might have added. The thought hung in the air between them. Whether she’s the princess she was born to be or the peasant she wants to be.
“You’re right,” said Sagandran slowly. He felt the huge weight of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders. He tried a smile. “But it shouldn’t come to that.”
“It might,” she said, avoiding his gaze and pretending to study the two Shadow Knights in front of the tunnel entrance, “and, if it does, I want you to promise me something, Sagandran.”
He knew what she was going to say, but he asked anyway. “What?”
“That if it comes to a toss-up between me and the crystal, it’s the crystal you choose to save.”
There. She’d said it. Of course, she was right. Millions – billions – of lives depended on the crystal being kept from Arkanamon, the Shadow Master. If it came to it, Sagandran’s choice would be obvious.
Easy enough in theory. In practice? He didn’t think he could sacrifice Perima to the Shadow Master or anyone else. He’d die to save her.
“I promise,” he lied.
There was a scream from inside the Tunnel of Love – not a scream of panic but of agony.
“Watch,” said Perima. She stooped down and rubbed her hands in the dirt of the alley. As she stood up again she smeared her face with the grime, scuffing up her hair and dirtying it as well. Shrugging off her backpack, she tore her dress at the shoulder. By the time she was done, she looked about five years older and more like a streetwalker than an aristocrat.
Perima put her finger to her lips, cautioning Sagandran to stay silent and hidden, and then sauntered out into the square. She caught the attention of the Shadow Knights instantly. With a clatter of the gruesome metal ornaments hanging off their armor they stood alert, facing her. They maintained their smiles, but it wasn’t hard to see the steel beneath.
“Hey, you,” she called in a lazy voice.
One of the guards relaxed just a little. “You mean us?”
“No one else around, is there?” She flounced her skirt a little, and strolled nearer. “You two new in town?”
The one who’d relaxed gave a small honk of laughter and glanced toward his colleague. “I guess you could say that, yes.”
“Thought you might be. Those are the dumbest-looking clown suits I’ve ever clapped eyes on.”
The other Shadow Knight stiffened further, but his companion just laughed again.
“Why you here, big boy?” said Perima.
Watching, Sagandran could hardly believe it. She was flirting with them.
“We serve the greatest master this world has ever seen, the Lord Arkanamon.”
“Never heard of ’im. Anyway, that wasn’t what I asked you. I said, why you here?”
The sterner of the two Shadow Knights replied, “We’re hunting for a boy. You seen him?”
“I seen lotsa boys,” said Perima with a knowing giggle. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“He’s with a girl. About the same age as he is. We’ve, ah …” he twitched his head involuntarily toward the interior of the Tunnel of Love. “We’ve just heard about her.”
“We-e-ell,” drawled Perima, “if he’s with a girl already, it’s not likely he’d’ve caught my eye, is it?”
“How old are you, young miss?” It was the friendlier of the two.
“Old enough.”
“Hm.”
“She pretty, this girl?”
“Nope. Not that we’ve been told. Just a squitty-faced little brat.”
Sagandran, hiding behind the building, thought this was going to be the end of Perima’s charade. Would be unfortunate for the two Shadow Knights, of course, who’d find themselves bruised and beaten by a spitfire of fury, but it would be even more unfortunate, in the slightly longer term, for his and Perima’s hopes of saving the Rainbow Crystal.
But Perima didn’t skip a beat. “Sort of a hoity-toity, snotty, nose-in-the-air kind of brat?”
“That’s what this Lamarod buffoon said. The sort you’d like to flush down the lavatory as soon as look at her, were his exact words.”
Another scream punctured the air. Perima gave an almost invisible flinch, but otherwise carried on as if she’d heard nothing.
“Oh, I know the boy and girl you mean. The boy’s kinda spotty and chinless and the girl swanks around the whole time looking down her nose at everyone like she was a princess or something?”
The two Shadow Knights glanced at each other.
“Sounds like them,” said the friendlier one. “You got any idea where they are?” He leaned forward. Although his smile didn’t change, it was clear he’d pick Perima up and strangle the information out of her if need be.
“Sure. I just saw ’em hanging around the front of the Hotel Chortle.” She pointed in the diametrically opposite direction. “Your quickest way, the streets being all crowded an’ all, is to go down that way.”
The two Shadow Knights shuffled their feet and exchanged meaningful looks.
“You quite sure, girl?” said the frowning one threateningly.
“Sure I’m sure.” Perima’s stance, with one hand on a forward-thrust hip, conveyed to the guards that she wasn’t in the slightest fazed by the intensity of their interest, and was just wondering why they were being so boringly solemn. “If you see ’em, take that smarmy girl down a peg or two for me, will ya?”
“We should really check with—” began the sterner one, glancing again toward the gaping mouth of the Tunnel of Love.
“By the time we’ve done that, they’ll be long gone,” said the other, obviously keen to get moving. Sagandran wondered how fast the Shadow Knights would be able to run in their armor.
His question was swiftly answered. The two warriors abruptly reached an agreement and took off in the direction that Perima had indicated. They moved with incredible speed, but they didn’t run. Instead, they floated with their feet just a couple of inches off the ground. Their silent progress was eerie, terrifying.
As soon as they’d disappeared, Perima was turning toward Sagandran’s hiding place and beckoning to him urgently.
“They won’t be long, is my guess,” she said as he rushed up to her. She seemed to be more out of breath than he was. He didn’t like to imagine what she’d been keeping pent-up behind the casual demeanor she’d displayed in front of the Shadow Knights. “If we’re going to do this, we’d better be quick.”
They darted into the Tunnel of Love. The place looked no different from when they’d last been here, but Sagandran would have sworn that it did. Funny how a complete shift in o
ne’s own state of mind could make somewhere seem so changed. The posters of spooning couples, the big pink, bulgy heart-shaped balloons, the paintings on the ceiling showing cute little tweety bluebirds; all that he and Perima had laughed about as being both engagingly kitsch and, for that very reason, rather romantic was now enough to make him shudder, because of the contrast between its sugariness and the dreadful things that Arkanamon’s henchmen were doing to Mayor Lamarod, out of sight.
But not out of earshot. Another cry of anguish came echoing down the tunnel toward them.
Sagandran braced himself. “Right. Here goes everything.”
As he dashed into the gloom of the tunnel, which once seemed seedily welcoming but was now just ominous he was aware of Perima keeping pace beside him. Of course, he realized with a sudden queasy feeling in his empty stomach, we’re going about this the wrong way. We should have somehow armed ourselves before going on the attack. He couldn’t imagine what they might have found in the way of weapons in Wonderville of all places, but even a pair of the giant candy-sticks they’d seen could have served as clubs. Anything. Instead, all they had were their bare fists and their wits.
They rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. Luckily, the people in front of them were too engrossed in their own activities to hear or see anything else.
Three Shadow Knights, two of them holding flickering torches, stood and watched like spectators at a Punch and Judy show while a fourth picked up the mayor from the floor and threw him with hideous force against the wall. It was obvious that he’d done this many times already. The light of the torches reflected fitful galaxies from the Shadow Knights’ shining armor. Lamarod’s peacock-hued clothes were in tatters, and blood was running down his face from an awful wound on his bald scalp. One of his hands flapped crazily, the wrist broken. Tears were making weird patterns out of the blood on his cheeks. His eyes squeezed shut in agony as he slammed against the wall, and another of those piteous wails was jerked from his lips.
He collapsed forward, face first onto the floor.
“I told you,” he moaned. “I’ve told you everything I know. They wanted to come into the city, into my Wonderville, but when I told them they had to leave all their worries in the box by the gate they refused. The last I saw of them they were heading back into the Everwoods. I was glad, tell you the truth. A nastier-looking pair of cockroaches I haven’t had the misfortune to encounter in a very—”
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