Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  ‘There’s not really very much danger,’ said Quilp to everyone. ‘There’s hardly any more danger than when a single meteor passes over us.’ He hurried about his various Council duties, consulting almost hourly with the other Council members, his cloak billowing out and his hat blown out of shape by the relentless wind, so that he took on the appearance of a huge black crow.

  ‘But he doesn’t go out after dusk,’ said Fenella, watching from the window of Snizort’s study one evening.

  ‘Well, we don’t have dusk any longer.’

  There was no dusk, and there was scarcely any light left, now. The whole of Renascia was becoming sucked into the evil black and crimson night and the howling winds were tearing across the planet almost without ceasing.

  People were beginning to move slowly and to wear a faintly puzzled air, as if they found it difficult to comprehend what was happening. They began to forget things, to lose things, to find it hard to remember names.

  ‘It’s frightening,’ said Fenella, curled up in the jutting bow window, looking up at the sky, while Snizort worked anxiously at his desk, trying to record everything that was happening, because they would all like a proper chronicle of events after it was over. ‘Not just the physical danger, but the things that seem to be happening inside people’s minds. There’s a — a slowing down.’

  ‘Time running out and running down,’ said Floy, softly.

  ‘Everything seems to last much longer,’ said Fenella.

  ‘Quilp’s lasting much longer,’ said Snodgrass, crossly. ‘Everywhere you look, he’s there. He gets in people’s way.’

  He was everywhere, it seemed, and so it was no surprise when he came knocking on the door of Snizort and Snodgrass’s house in company with Marplot and Prunum, later that day.

  A small Council matter, he said, on being bidden to enter. Really, it was wrong of them to trouble Floy in this way, and also his sister and Snizort and Snodgrass, he said, smiling rather unctuously at Fenella, waving away Snodgrass’s offer of some refreshment.

  It was just that they — he and the Council — had thought that some small ceremony ought to attend the sealing of the shelters, said Quilp, smiling at Floy in a way that Floy did not altogether trust.

  ‘An historic moment for us all,’ said Quilp. ‘We thought it ought to be attended by some solemnity.’ And smiled again and waited.

  Floy said, rather baldly, ‘What had you in mind?’ and thought it was exactly like Quilp, pompous old idiot, to be thinking of ceremonies and speeches when they ought to have been checking that the shelters were as water-tight as they needed to be or looking over the provisions and making sure that everyone in Renascia knew to go into the shelter later that day, which was what had been decided early that morning. We cannot leave it any longer, thought Floy, glancing through the window.

  Because Time is running down, it is slipping away through a tear in the skies, like sand trickling through a man’s hands, and we cannot have very much of it left now …

  ‘What had you in mind, Quilp?’ he said, turning back, trying not to show impatience, because whatever Quilp and the others wanted would probably not take very long and, if it pleased them all, it could not matter.

  Quilp said, ‘Oh, very little, really. We thought that, perhaps, we would go into the shelter in procession, you know.’

  ‘It will enable us to keep an exact count of everyone as well,’ put in Marplot.

  ‘So it will. And if you and your sister — ’ Again the careful bow in Fenella’s direction, ‘would perhaps walk at the procession’s rear, it would make it quite ceremonious,’ said Quilp.

  ‘And then you could be the one to actually seal the doors behind us,’ added Prunum.

  Floy said, ‘The old Earth-tradition of the Captain being the last to leave the sinking ship?’ And laughed, and said, ‘I don’t suppose it could hurt.’

  ‘I think it would go down rather well with the people,’ said Quilp.

  ‘Very well.’ And then, suddenly, ‘But Fenella must take her place in the shelter earlier with the other ladies,’ said Floy.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Fenella at once.

  ‘It would be rather nice,’ said Quilp, ‘if she walked at your side. And it would only be a few minutes behind the rest of us, of course.’ He made it sound rather trivial, as if he thought Floy was making a fuss, and Floy thought: I suppose it is all right. After all, we shall all be going into the shelters together. And at least he would have Fenella with him. If she went down earlier, perhaps with the other ladies, they might become separated.

  And so he said, ‘Yes, very well,’ and Quilp and his friends smiled all over again, and declined a second offer of refreshments, and said they would all meet up shortly.

  ‘For the last walk through Renascia’s streets,’ said Quilp.

  The last walk … It was rather frightening to be dressing for the brief journey to the shelters, but Fenella tried to think that it was a little bit exciting as well. It was difficult to believe that Renascia might be completely destroyed, that it might cease to exist, and Fenella would not believe it.

  She pulled on dark trousers which could be tucked into the tops of boots and folded a couple of cambric shirts and some underthings into a small bag. Toothpowder? Yes, of course. And hairbrush and comb. Quilp and the Council had told people to bring just a small bag each, not to clutter the shelters with unnecessary belongings. They would frown on the boots, and they would certainly frown on the trousers, which were an old pair of Floy’s, altered to fit, and which ladies did not usually wear. But trousers would be warm and sensible and Fenella was more concerned about being practical for what might be ahead of them rather than about satisfying Quilp’s sartorial requirements. She would take her cloak as well, which she could put over her shoulders. There was a fur-lined hood with large deep pockets which might come in handy.

  The last walk … It was strange and rather eerie to walk like this with Floy, down the deserted streets, with the wind buffeting wildly into their faces. Fenella thought that already the streets had an abandoned air, as if no one would ever walk along them again, as if no one would ever live in the houses … Stop it! she said silently. I won’t think like that!

  They walked through the darkness, both aware of the changing quality of the wind and aware, as well, of an immense pressure from somewhere in the skies.

  Fenella said, softly, ‘It is very close to us now.’

  ‘Yes.’ Floy stopped and looked into the massing blackness over their heads, his face pale in the heavy light, his eyes shadowed.

  He took her arm more firmly, because the wind was raging all about them and there was a feeling of tremendous oppressiveness. Here and there the skies were becoming streaked with crimson, great jagged streaks, as if they were wounded and bleeding. But, despite the tearing wind, the black clouds were moving slowly, as if they might be trying to resist the strong pull of something hidden over the far horizon …

  This is quite terrible, thought Fenella, bending her head against the wind. This is the most terrible thing that could ever happen. And then, with sudden fear: And I believe we are alone in the darkness for ever …

  With the framing of the thought, came another, not from within her mind, but from somewhere outside of it.

  Yes, Mortal, you are outside now. You are outside in the howling confusion and in the raging winds and the endless night that is bearing down upon you …

  Fenella blinked and looked round because, just for a moment, the words had seemed real and solid, as if someone, quite close by, had actually said them. But there was nothing but the night and the storm and there was no one but themselves.

  It was Floy who said, ‘Shouldn’t we be seeing the others soon?’

  ‘Should we?’ Fenella tried to gauge how late it was. They had been careful to leave in plenty of time and Quilp had suggested that they meet in the square in front of the Round House. But it had seemed to take a very long time for the appointed hour to come round; there had been a
slowness and a weary dragging out of the afternoon, so that they had both thought several times that the timepieces must have stopped, or perhaps that they had fallen asleep.

  To sleep, never to wake … thought Fenella. Where have I heard or read or remembered that?

  The Round House was in front of them now and it was deserted. There was an abandoned look about it. Could they have missed the others? Had they mistaken the time?

  Floy took her arm, and said, ‘I think we had better go straight to the shelters.’ He had to shout, because the wind was so strong that it snatched the words away.

  Fenella nodded and they began to move along the wind-ravaged street. It was difficult to walk very fast and it was disconcerting how different the houses looked now.

  The light is draining from the world … I could wish I had never heard those words, thought Fenella, struggling to keep up with Floy, feeling the wind snatching at her cloak and trying to wrap it more tightly round her.

  The light is draining, and Time is slipping through your hands, Mortals …

  The horrid coppery taint was all round them, in their nostrils and in their mouths; it was like tasting blood, thought Fenella, feeling sick. And, from somewhere over their heads, was a rushing rhythmic sound, as if they were nearing a huge, gobbling whirlpool. It was becoming difficult to stay on their feet and, several times, Fenella would have fallen if Floy had not kept tight hold of her.

  They stopped to draw breath at the intersection of two streets and stood for a moment, looking round.

  ‘Can you see anyone?’ asked Fenella, raising her voice above the buffeting wind.

  ‘No one,’ said Floy and Fenella caught an undercurrent of anger in his voice. Could Quilp somehow have tricked them? And if he had …

  And then Floy turned, smiling, and Fenella felt a rush of relief because, of course, Quilp would not have done such a thing and, of course, it was only that they had somehow missed the procession. Perhaps, despite their care, they had simply been late.

  She looked eagerly along the street, expecting to see the line of people, and then said, puzzled, ‘But it’s only two people. It’s — oh, it’s Snizort and Snodgrass!’

  And although they were becoming extremely concerned at the emptiness of the streets, it was remarkably comforting to see the two brothers coming towards them down the street, puffing a bit, hung about with baskets and provisions and scarves and mufflers.

  Snizort and Snodgrass were delighted to find they were not as late as they had feared. Snodgrass had been so busy in the kitchen that he had forgotten to keep an eye on the hour and Snizort had lost his turnip-faced watch anyway.

  They had brought along everything they thought they might need, probably more than they needed. Snizort had packed a huge bag which looked as if it was made out of sections of carpet and which he said was called a portmanteau. He had brought paper and charcoal sticks which would be more practical than pen and ink, so that everything could be recorded as it happened, and he had added a spare pair of spectacles as well, because you never knew. Snodgrass had packed some of his ham pasties and honey bread and a tin of scones and two flagons each of Elderberry Wine and Damson Mead. It had been quite difficult to know whether this would be sufficient.

  ‘Sufficient for a city under siege,’ said Floy. ‘Do hurry, both of you,’ He took Fenella’s arm and began to move down the street again, Snizort and Snodgrass close behind, the four of them bent almost double against the shrieking wind. Fenella’s hair whipped into her face, obscuring her vision. The wind was stinging her skin and it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe.

  ‘We must hurry!’ cried Floy, and Fenella managed to nod, because they must hurry. They could see that the skies were forming a pattern above them; they were circling round and round, making a whirlpool, a maelstrom, a vortex.

  Fenella vaguely thought that there were voices in the wind again, singing, crying voices that lived at the wind’s heart and would call and beckon to you, and whisper in your ear that the world was ending, it was dying, not with a bang but with a whimper, and they were out here in the howling night and the raging confusion, and if they wanted to escape, they must listen to the voices …

  Yes, yes, listen to us, Fenella, walk into the wind and the light, and you will surely see us …

  Fenella stopped and looked round, puzzled, but they had stopped in the temporary shelter of a building and there was a check in the wind’s force, and there was no light anywhere. Imagination, nothing more, said Fenella silently, and turned her mind to the more immediate question of where everyone was.

  But it was Snodgrass, ever practical, who said, ‘Floy, what has happened? Where are the rest?’ and Floy frowned, the dark brows making a bar of anger. Fenella felt something cold and vicious clutch her heart.

  Snizort said, almost to himself, ‘I always said I wouldn’t trust that Quilp from here to the end of the street,’ and Snodgrass shook his head dolefully.

  Floy made an abrupt gesture which took in the empty streets and the shuttered buildings and Fenella realised that he was so angry he could not speak.

  ‘Even so,’ said Snodgrass, ‘even so, I think we should get on to the shelters.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course we must.’ Floy straightened up, and took Fenella’s hand again. ‘We’re nearly there, in any case.’

  They were nearly there, but still it seemed a long time before they reached the outskirts of Renascia and saw the sloping hillside where they had worked so hard. They could see the small, narrow entrance and the steps that wound down to them.

  Fenella, standing still, fighting the wind, said, ‘But — the doors are closed.’

  ‘And sealed,’ said Snodgrass, peering through the driving rain.

  ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Floy in an expressionless voice. ‘Yes, both of them.’ And turned to look at his three companions.

  They were shut out of the shelters …

  It was a terrible moment. Fenella stared at the others and tried to form her thoughts into order, knowing that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to any of them.

  They managed to stagger back to the lee of the streets again, where the tall buildings afforded some protection from the frantic wind, but they had to fight every inch and Fenella thought the wind was increasing. The red glow was certainly stronger. How long could they stay out here?

  Snodgrass said, ‘Some plot of Quilp’s, do you think, Floy?’ and Floy said grimly, ‘I do indeed.’

  ‘But-wouldn’t the others override him?’ asked Fenella, unable to believe that the Renascians would have agreed to something so monstrous.

  ‘There are two shelters,’ said Floy. ‘The occupants of one could have been told that we are in the other.’

  ‘And the occupants of the other would be told we are in the first. Yes, of course.’

  ‘Clever,’ said Snizort, shaking his head. ‘My word, he’s clever, that Quilp.’

  Fenella asked, ‘Do you truly mean that he planned it?’ And heard her voice saying the words, and did not believe she was hearing them.

  ‘Yes. Yes, he has planned it,’ said Floy, turning to stare at the blind closed doors of the shelters. ‘Perhaps he planned it all along.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well,’ said Floy, ‘I can’t be sure, but it would be a very easy way for him to be rid of us. It would ensure that he would be the unchallenged Council head.’ He looked at Fenella. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I was impatient and rebellious with the Council. Perhaps I tried to change too many things too quickly and this is the outcome.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Snodgrass at once. ‘Quilp is out simply to snatch power for himself.’

  ‘And, perhaps, to protect his furtive little moneymaking schemes,’ said Snizort. ‘You were a threat, Floy, but not in quite the way you’re thinking. I never trusted him. Snodgrass, didn’t I always say I never trusted him?’

  ‘Even so,’ said Floy, immensely heartened by this, ‘I should have
seen through his ridiculous little ploy. I should have been more wary.’

  Fenella made an impatient gesture, because this was not something that mattered. What was important now was for them to find some kind of refuge until Renascia was out of danger. She did not think: if it ever is out of danger, because this was something else that must not be put into words.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Snodgrass, ‘that if we shouted and banged on the doors we would not be heard?’

  ‘No,’ said Floy, at once. ‘No, because one of the things we ensured was absolute sealing of both shelters.’

  ‘Could we shout through the grilles?’ asked Fenella. ‘We’ll certainly try,’ said Floy and was moving towards the shelters at once, his face set, his eyes blazing with fury.

  Fenella thought: I would not like to be Quilp when Floy finally meets up with him. If Floy meets up with him. But this was another thought that was dangerous, and so she concentrated on keeping up with Floy, walking between Snizort and Snodgrass, both of them trying to avoid the pouring rain that was sheeting down on them now, and the howling wind, all of them uneasily aware of the sinister dark mass over their heads.

  ‘And there is a rushing sound now,’ shouted Snizort in Fenella’s ear. ‘Can you hear it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been hearing it for a while now,’ rejoined Fenella. ‘Isn’t it just the wind?’