by Craig Spence
“You are a privileged young man, Josh Dempster,” Vortigen joked. “You shall have to get used to living like a prince, an arduous duty to be sure.”
“I don’t want to be a prince!” Josh shouted.
“No, no. Of course not,” Vortigen replied solicitously. “Perhaps you are still not acclimatized after our rapid descent. Maybe once you’ve sampled some refreshments you will feel differently. Come, my stubborn companion, let’s get home to the Emerald Palace.”
Josh followed reluctantly. He did not trust himself. There were too many interesting things in Syde, things he had not expected. As they floated down toward the Highland of Ormor he vowed not to enjoy any of its delights. “I’ll starve myself if I have to,” Josh grimaced.
48
Mr. Dempster met them at the admissions counter.
Tired and haggard, he motioned for them to sit down on a sofa in the reception area. “Frank, how are you?” Mrs. Epp asked. “How’s Alison?”
“We’re in shock, Doreen,” he said.
“And Josh?”
He looked away, tears welling in his eyes. “We don’t know,” he replied in a strangled voice. “He’s gone into a coma. The doctors can’t figure out what’s going on.”
Millie’s heart thumped and seemed to get heavier by the second, as if it were going to drop through her stomach. A crushing weight pressed in on her. She glanced at Ian, who glanced back. Should they say anything? Would it help for the doctors to know about Endorathlil’s spell? A part of her wanted desperately to speak up; another part remembered Puddifant’s advice. Ian watched impassively. She knew he was trying not to influence her, that he was giving her a free hand. She also knew he would not say anything if it were his call.
“Can we see Josh?” Millie asked.
Mr. Dempster turned toward her. He’d forgotten she and Ian were there and now he seemed surprised. “Millie! Ian!” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “You two are his best friends. I’d love to let you see him, but I can’t.”
“Can’t?” Millie repeated, not sure what that meant.
“The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong. They’re running tests, but until they get some results, no visitors. Alison is in the room with him, but I can’t even go in and out. They’re quarantined for the time being.”
“That’s awful,” Mrs. Epp commiserated. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Is there anything we can do?”
“I don’t think so, Doreen,” he said. “But thanks.”
“Nothing at the house?”
“Oh,” he thought. “If Millie could go over and put some food down for Muppet, that would be nice.”
Muppet was the Dempsters aged cat. Overweight and swaybacked, she divided her time between the living room sofa and the kitchen window. A calico, she had been named Muppet because of the way she flopped like a rag doll whenever anyone picked her up. To Millie, who wasn’t allowed any pets, Muppet had become a surrogate. She often took care of Muppet when the Dempsters were away on holiday. “I’ll look after her.”
“Thanks, Mil,” Mr. Dempster said, seeming overly grateful for such a small favour.
Muppet wound herself around Millie’s leg, obviously starved for affection as much as food. She purred loudly, half complaining, half expressing her pleasure at being stroked by a loving hand. Millie patted the cat distractedly. She should put down a saucer of milk and bowl of kibble then get out. But she dallied, and the longer she lingered the more drawn she was to what lay hidden upstairs. Temptation held her suspended between acting and fleeing. “No!” she told herself, glad she hadn’t mentioned her dilemma to Ian on the way back from the hospital. She knew what his advice would be: “Go for it!” He never hesitated.
“Ian.” That was another problem. Millie tried to ignore the disturbing emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “It’s not right,” her conscience screamed. “Not when Josh is lying in hospital in a coma!” But even anger and indignation wouldn’t drive her feelings away. She liked Ian Lytle — liked him a lot more than she should. Not that she hadn’t liked boys before: there had been times when she thought she liked Josh that way. But none of her previous infatuations had been as strong, and none had drawn her toward a more unlikely character. Was Ian aware of her? Did he feel the same way? Millie blushed, glad the cat was colour blind and there wasn’t anyone else in the room to see her torment. “Stop it!” she shouted, stamping her feet and clenching her fists. Muppet stared, amused and astonished by her outburst.
Millie forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I can at least check to see if it’s there,” she said resolutely. She made her way out of the kitchen into the Dempsters’ foyer. Pausing for a second, she placed her hand on the newel post and looked up the stairs. There was no reason for her to go up there, except the one she didn’t want to think about. Her business was on the first floor, in the kitchen. Swinging round the post, she placed her foot on the bottom step then began treading up, up toward Josh’s room.
“Under the bed,” she muttered. That seemed a stupid place to hide it, but Josh was completely confident Mrs. Dempster would never go looking for dust balls there. “My room’s my responsibility,” he’d explained. “I think your mom must clean up when you’re not looking,” Millie had challenged because she’d never seen him pick up a broom in his entire life. Maybe she’d been wrong though. Mrs. Dempster hadn’t found The Book.
Turning the knob stealthily, Millie snuck into the room, Muppet still close on her heels. Stooping, she got onto her hands and knees, lifted the coverlet aside and peered under the bed. There it was! The Book of Syde. She stared at it for a long time, as if it might be booby-trapped. Then Millie lay flat on her stomach, reached in, and pulled the heavy tome out from under the bed. “What are you going to do with it?” she asked herself. No answer came, and yet, she wanted to take it — felt that Josh’s fate depended on this act of thievery. Muppet seemed to agree. The cat rubbed up against her as Millie sat cross-legged on the floor, the book cradled on her lap. “What do you think?” she asked the cat. Muppet looked at her inscrutably, his gold eyes fixed on her, as if he possessed an ancient wisdom. “You think I should take it don’t you?” The cat continued to stare until Millie was certain. There could be no doubting. She had to take The Book of Syde.
49
Grand Central Station. Taj Mahal. Westminster Abbey. All of these wonders were dwarfed by the splendour of The Emerald Palace. Josh gasped in wonder when Vortigen’s entourage swept down from the ceiling of Syde then under the colossal arch that led into the Great Hall. Thousands upon thousands had gathered to welcome their chief. As he flapped down the length of the vaulted cathedral, the innumerable host roared “Hail Vortigen!” He alighted in a towering pulpit, and while his entourage took up their places in the front row, he preened himself for a speech. He glared from one minion to another, until every one of the countless faces in that crowd had felt the heat of his penetrating glance. Then raising his arms, he commanded a silence none dared defy.
“Citizens!” he began. “Fellow Sydeans who do not spurn the title minion, but wear it proudly!”
A great cheer went up.
“We have cause for celebration. For great celebration!”
Vortigen continued. “The prayer that has gone unanswered since the foundation of Syde was sculpted out of the solid rock these many eons ago has found its mark at last!”
Another wild cheer shook the hall.
“The witch Endorathlil, who so recently displeased us with an unsavoury offering, has redeemed herself. Indeed, she has earned a place of honour in the palace of Lord Vortigen, for she has chosen one who will be my heir . . . if he chooses.”
A murmur unsettled his audience. “Who would not so choose?” some asked. “How can there be any doubt?” others puzzled.
Vortigen stared them into silence then shifted his gaze toward Josh. Love, hate, deceit, honesty — Josh could not tell what he saw in the glowing eyes of his benefactor. This exchange la
sted but a moment before Vortigen’s expression hardened.
“We have been deceived in this before, but today the heir apparent is with us.”
Josh thought he heard what no one else in the room dared hear — a pleading tone to Vortigen’s words. The iron-willed ruler of Syde doubted. He was not sure his chosen heir would live up to the promise that had been given. A dread took hold of him. To disappoint the Lord of Syde in this, his most cherished dream, would bring terrible consequences. In an instant the proud benefactor could turn into the wrathful tyrant, and Josh was certain a collision of wills would come.
“Power shall be ours,” Vortigen was saying. “Until now we have been mere guests in Outworld, at the beck and call of witches and warlocks. We have watched helplessly as our projects collapsed into ruins, all for the lack of a human heir. Soon our power shall be complete and we shall extend our dominion over both worlds. The Ancient Law shall prevail under and over the earth with the coming of the New Moon . . . ”
A tumult swelled through the legions. “Hail!” they boomed, their shouts hammering at Josh like a fist. “Hail! Hail! Hail!”
50
Doreen Epp was worried. She strained pasta in the kitchen sink, turning her head away from the roiling cloud that threatened to fog her glasses. Millie moved about the dinning room, setting places at the table. Neither of them could think of anything except Josh Dempster. Mrs. Epp’s heart constricted. It all seemed so unlikely, so unreal.
She remembered Frank’s parting words, his voice cracking, as they’d said goodbye at the hospital: “You watch out for Millie, Doreen. She and Josh are so close”
But how could Mrs. Epp help when Millie avoided her? Her daughter didn’t seem to want any help, and that troubled Mrs. Epp. Normally they discussed everything. Millie had never felt uncomfortable coming to her with even the most intimate concerns. But since their visit to the hospital, Millie had been aloof. She’d even become irritable when her mother tried to talk about Josh. To Mrs. Epp it felt as if they were inside a storm cloud filled with electricity.
She loaded spaghetti onto the plates, ladled on some sauce, then carried dinner in. Millie had already sat down. Her eyes were red and puffy, her jaw clenched. She stared blankly at the opposite wall. Mrs. Epp’s hands trembled as she set the plates down. She found herself suddenly short of breath.
“Try and eat,” she said.
The noodles went down like worms. Even Mrs. Epp had to swallow hard, and after a few mouthfuls, she gave up. “I guess this was a dumb idea,” she apologized.
Millie smiled. “It’s instinct, Mum,” she said. “You’re worried, you eat.”
“I worry too much,” Mrs. Epp joked, pinching the imperceptible bulge of her own waist.
“Yeah, about your looks Mum,” her daughter scolded.
“Right now I’m worried about the way you look honey,” Mrs. Epp ventured. “Is there something you’re trying to say.”
Millie responded with a furtive glance.
“Millie?” Mrs. Epp pressed.
“Yes Mum,” Millie blurted, “there is something I want to say, but I don’t know how and I’m afraid to begin because it’s something I need to do and you might say no and then we’ll end up in a terrible fight and I can’t stand thinking about it.”
Startled, Mrs. Epp shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t often say ‘no’, dear,” she pointed out. “I trust your judgment.”
“I know Mum.”
“Then this must be an unusual request.”
“Yeah. It’s weird. That’s why I’m afraid.”
“Well?” Mrs. Epp prompted.
Millie looked frantic, the way a suspect might, trying to come up with an alibi. Finally, with a sigh of resignation she said, “Mum, I think there’s a way I can help Josh.”
Mrs. Epp watched and waited. “Can you tell me a little more?” she asked at last.
“If I could only reach him with my thoughts, Mum, I think I could bring him back.”
“Reach him with your thoughts?”
“Yeah. If we try and put ourselves in the place where Josh has gone, maybe we can help him get home again.”
Mrs. Epp stiffened. “We?” she thought. “The placed where Josh has gone?”
“Who is we?” she asked.
“Me and Ian,” Millie said defiantly.
Mrs. Epp calmed herself, breathing deeply. “Talk it through,” she thought. “Don’t react.”
“How are you going to reach Josh, honey?”
For a moment Millie looked as though she would rather be someplace else — anyplace else. Then she met her mother’s glance. “I think we need to reach out with our minds — sort of like praying,” she explained.
“And just where is it you think Josh has gone?” Mrs. Epp demanded, surprised at her own alarm and anger.
“I don’t know!” Millie pleaded. “But he needs us — and I need to help. I have to or I’ll go crazy!”
“It sounds like you’re talking about some sort of trance, Millie, like — what’s it called? — astral voyaging.”
Millie clammed up.
Mrs. Epp stiffened. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if a trap door suddenly opened beneath her chair and sent her tumbling into space. She wanted to grab hold of Millie and warn her. “Don’t fool around with that sort of stuff! Be careful around that boy Ian Lytle.” Millie watched her pleadingly. Sensible Millie; do-it-your-own-way Millie; Millie, who seemed more grown up than the grown-ups.
“You haven’t said no, Mum” Millie tested.
“I’m not saying yes, either,” she warned. But Mrs. Epp knew that was exactly what she was saying. She knew Millie wasn’t telling her everything, that her daughter was still being secretive. But what would be worse: hating herself for letting her daughter try or having Millie hate her for saying no?
“Thanks Mum,” Millie said quietly . . . “For not saying ‘no’.”
The tension drained out of them. “Honey,” Mrs. Epp said taking her daughter’s hand. “You’re incredible. Have I ever told you that?”
“Oh, not often,” Millie teased. “Just two or three times a day for the last twelve years.”
They laughed, but Mrs. Epp was afraid. If anything happened to Millie, she would blame herself.
51
The creature that had introduced himself as Quiggle pattered along the passageway in the footsteps of Lord Vortigen. “Marvelous speech, sir!” he enthused. “A real barn-burner, as they say.”
“Thank you Quigs. Now would you be so kind as to shut up,” Vortigen repaid the compliment.
A few of the minions nearby sniggered.
“Oh yes sir,” Quiggle responded. “I know you must be preoccupied with great matters of state while the rest of us can only think of our beastly bellies. Why, a word from me might obliterate a thought that could topple an empire or crown a new king.”
“Quite right Quiggle.”
“You need to be protected from chatterboxes . . . ”
“Shut up, damn you!” Vortigen growled.
Chastened, the valet turned to Josh. “He has to think all the time, you know. Think, think, think. I swear, it gives me a headache. I wouldn’t trade places with him for all the titanium in Ardu.”
“Huh?” Josh said.
“Oh! Goodness me! I’ve been here so long, I’ve forgotten how to speak to newcomers. I shall have to take a refresher course in Outworld communications — ‘all the titanium in Ardu’ is equivalent to ‘all the tea in China’.” He paused, thinking over what he’d just said, then ran to catch up with Josh. “Of course, you can’t drink titanium,” he corrected. “I just mean the sayings imply the same thing.”
“I understood,” Josh said politely.
He liked Quiggle, but found it hard not to laugh at him with the others.
“Outworld? Is that what you call the earth?” he asked.
“It’s what we call your part of the planet, yes.”
“Then is this place called Inworld?”
Vortigen sighed and ground his teeth.
“Yes, I suppose I could,” Josh agreed.
“Then you will reconsider, sir?”
“Reconsider what?”
“Your refusal to mount the Double Throne,” Quiggle explained.
Josh stared at the pale lanky figure, who stumbled along beside him. How could he take offence? This minion spoke from the heart without fear or embellishment. The others mistook him for a bumbling coward because they didn’t understand Quiggle’s gentle brand of determination. He knew kids at Mount Pleasant School just like Quiggle. Josh vowed that if he did laugh at the valet it would be the kind of laughter permitted between friends.
The entourage swept into another hall, this one not as large as the Great Hall but still bigger than almost anything you’d see on earth. Josh gawped at the splendour. Tables glittered with silver and crystal — row after row of them, all set at right angles to a head table, elevated on a dais. Minions poured into the hall, a tide rushing into a dry lagoon, filling the space with their babble, the scrape of chairs and the clatter of cutlery. Vortigen and his highest lieutenants filed onto the platform behind the head table and took their places. Immediately an army of servants burdened with heaping trays stormed the room from a series of doors that must have led to a kitchen.
“As pure spirits, we do not have to eat, of course,” Vortigen was saying, “but feasting is a pleasure my minions like to indulge, and I’ve acquired the habit myself. I suppose it makes Syde feel more like home to them.”