by Craig Spence
Endorathlil winced. “I will look up the incantation, but as a last resort Josh would do better to submit to Vortigen,” she said darkly. “Is there any other way I can help you?”
Puddifant smiled. “You can remember who you are, Lillian. You can become the little girl, who loves and wants to use her magic only for good. And most importantly, you can continue calling out to Millie and Ian. They must return through the portal you opened. There is no other way for them.”
She nodded grimly. “I shall not rest until they are safely home,” Endorathlil vowed.
59
Josh’s eyes blinked open. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep, having thrown himself upon his bed after shunning his royal robes. He had been troubled by dreams. First, Puddifant had come to him as a disembodied voice chanting a strange song. Then he found himself back in the Grand Procession, reliving his disgrace.
He blushed, remembering Millie’s outrage. Jumping up from his bed, Josh paced. He looked out the window beyond the rim of Ormor into the Sydean lowlands. A few hours earlier he’d thought himself co-ruler of all he saw; now he shook his head and moaned, a pampered prisoner. How could he have betrayed his friends? How could he have forgotten his parents? That Vortigen had tricked him seemed no excuse. “I allowed myself to be tricked,” he muttered accusingly.
“You underestimate your enemy, which is the same thing as overestimating yourself.”
“Inspector!” Josh cried, rejoicing, even though his cheeks blazed with shame. “Where are you? Look at the trouble I’ve got myself into!” He glanced around the room, hoping to find Puddifant perched on the elaborate canopy over his bed or seated on the windowsill. But his friend did not appear.
“Where are you?” Josh called out again in desperation.
“Calm yourself,” the voice chided, and this time Josh recognized it as his own impetuous thoughts tempered by everything Puddifant’s had taught him during their sessions in the tree fort. He couldn’t actually see the Inspector, or even hear him, really. Nonetheless, Horace Puddifant had joined him and Josh welcomed the guiding influence. “Think,” he told himself, imagining what Puddifant would do in the circumstances. “What do you know. Look at the facts of your case.”
“We have allies?” Josh said out loud. “Vortigen’s enemies must be my friends.”
He’d heard of the rebels before, but only from Quiggle, and only in sketchy detail. During the Grand Procession, after he had talked to Millie and been pulled away in the Coach of State, he’d seen them in action. He caught glimpses of a striking young man who thrust Millie and Ian through the crowd, and a squadron of stout combatants battling Vortigen’s minions with truncheons, sticks and bare hands.
“Rabble,” Vortigen had proclaimed as they rolled on, and Josh dared not say — or even think — anything different.
But now he vowed to find out more.
“How did Millie and Ian get into Syde?” he wondered. He couldn’t think of an answer to that question, but Josh knew beyond doubt that his best friends were in mortal danger and that he had to go to their aid. If their spirits were in Syde, their physical bodies must be suspended in limbo on earth. He knew that. They would die if they didn’t get home, and the chances of getting home seemed slim with all Vortigen’s minions pursuing them. He wondered if Endorathlil had anything to do with their being in Syde, but considered that unlikely.
One thing was certain: they had come to help. And look how he had repaid them! Again his stomach twisted and his cheeks burned. Would Millie ever forgive him? And what about Ian? Would he be able to laugh off Josh’s erratic behaviour? “Whether they do or not, I must help them escape,” Josh vowed.
“And to do that, you must forgive yourself.”
Vortigen had got the better of him with poisoned food and honeyed words. So be it. He’d come to his senses and now he would do what was right. He would join the fray and either save his friends or die trying.
But where could he begin? For the time being he determined to continue in the role of pampered heir. He would don his royal costume and haughty manners because that would give him the thing he needed most: the power to command. Reluctantly Josh pulled the cumbersome robe out of the inlaid box at the foot of his bed and draped it over his shoulders. He straightened the garment and patted it into shape. “There,” he said, examining himself in a mirror. “Now, pout like a spoiled child and the disguise will be perfect.”
“Where to from here, though?” he asked. The answer seemed clear. He had to discover what Vortigen knew, and what Vortigen was planning. “First, to the heart of the enemy’s fortress; then to the aid of my friends,” Josh determined, bustling over to the door and yanking it open.
What he discovered on the other side made him stare in amazement!
“Quiggle!” Josh shouted at the figure frozen on the threshold. “What are you doing? Spying on me?”
“Spying? Me? Oh, my goodness, no. Not I! And on Vortigen’s heir! No, no, no. I was simply trying to determine if his Most Eminent Lordship still napped. One wouldn’t want to disturb the Sleep of State, eh?”
“Well, since you are here, perhaps you can help me,” Josh said doubtfully.
The valet looked up and down the hall, then back at Josh.
“If I can be of assistance sir, my paltry life — well, not life such as it is known in Outworld, but my paltry existence I suppose — is at your command,” he whispered “Good,” Josh said briskly. “I need to get to Vortigen’s war room, my friend. Perhaps you can save me some time by leading the way.”
Quiggle cringed, but then steeled himself. “Come,” he said. “I shall take you where you want to go, but if you get me sent to Desolation Isle I shall never forgive you.”
Down, down they trooped, deeper into the labyrinth of the Emerald Palace.
“Well, Quiggle, I’m certainly glad you showed up,” Josh allowed. “I don’t think I ever would have found my way without you.”
“Almost there sir,” the obliging valet hushed. “We must move on cat’s paws and with our mouths tightly sealed if we want to avoid being challenged by Vortigen’s Royal Guards.”
They crept into a gallery, looking down into a perfectly round chamber. Vortigen and his lieutenants were gathered at the edge of a large pool, which occupied the centre of the room. “That’s the Seer’s Pool,” Quiggle informed him. “Vortigen can spy on any quadrant of his kingdom in its waters.”
“Find them!” the Lord of Syde growled, thumping the arms of his throne in frustration. “I want every soldier engaged in the hunt, do you understand? Find them!”
“Yes, My Lord,” one of the commanders answered.
“They’re looking for your friends, I’m afraid,” Quiggle reported.
“Why?” Josh wondered. “Why would Vortigen put so much energy into finding a couple of kids?”
“He cannot allow them to escape,” Quiggle explained. “They are friends. Their voices will have a memory of this place, and will find you from Outworld. They will be able to call you back, Josh. Vortigen will do anything to prevent them escaping.”
“Love?” Josh murmured. That was the bond Vortigen feared, and that was why music was banned from Syde — because songs were all about love.
He remembered Prince Bonniface’s lecture to Gorp the Hurler:We should punish these miserable creatures because they threaten everything we hold most dear, and because they want to impose their grim order on our world. For that I will kill if I must and die, too, if God wills it.
Josh had not fully appreciated the warrior’s words, daydreaming in his back yard that day — a day, which seemed eons ago. Fine sentiments had been easy then. But here, now, with his enemy no more than fifty paces away, plotting evil against his friends, he understood how hard it would be to “love thine enemy.”
He sought Puddifant’s wisdom again. “Love’s weakness is hatred; hatred’s weakness, love. Anything Vortigen loves becomes a fault line in his empire of evil. The whole thing can crack and topple if love runs deep en
ough.”
“Are you saying . . . ” Josh had hesitated that day in the tree fort, recoiling from the absurd notion that had entered his head.
“Yes!” Puddifant had insisted firmly. “Vortigen loves you, my boy. His is a deformed love, to be sure, but it is love just the same. That is why he will fear you more than anyone.”
Josh shook himself free of these memories, watching the activities in Vortigen’s war room. The Lord of Syde glared about at his retainers as if each and every one of them was responsible for frustrating his ambitions.
“He is in a dangerous mood,” Quiggle whispered. “I should not like to say anything irritating at this moment. No! I should keep clear of Lord Vortigen unless I had something positive to report.”
A sudden commotion fixed their attention back on the war room. A messenger clattered into the hall, still panting from his rush into the palace. “My Lord,” he spoke eagerly. “News!”
“What?” Vortigen shouted. “What is it?”
“We’ve had a report of two children staying at a house in Thimbleberry Lane, up near The Workings.”
“Yes? What else?”
“We raided the house, but found it had been abandoned. There were indications that Outworlders had indeed been there recently.”
“What indications, Captain?”
The man looked astonished.
“Get on with it,” Vortigen ordered in a bored tone. “You were a corporal a second ago, now you are a captain. Do you wish to complain?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Then tell me more. What indications were there of Outworlders in this house?”
“We brought in a seer, sir. There was a residue of energy on some of the furniture.”
“That means they left very shortly before your arrival, Captain.”
“Within an hour I would say, sir.”
“And do you have any idea where they might have been taken?”
“One of the neighbours reported a wagon pulling up to the place, My Lord, and a couple of old carpets being loaded into it.”
“Really?” Vortigen raised his brows.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s see what is on the roads, then,” Vortigen grinned.
Standing at the foot of his throne, he waved his hand over the Seer’s Pool. Immediately, like a computer screen switched on, the water was illuminated from within. It glowed blue, then an image began to resolve itself in the liquid molecules. Something like the picture of a city taken from outer space appeared.
“That’s Syde, sir,” Quiggle informed Josh.
Amazed, Josh watched as the map became clearer. He could see specks moving about under the transparent surface. These he recognized as carts and riders moving along thin ribbons of road.
“They are no doubt taking advantage of the heavy traffic leaving The Habitations,” Vortigen said.
“Yes sir,” the newly minted captain agreed. “Many people are still heading toward Tilth and the Gallian Forest. Some stayed to celebrate, others to visit friends and others to pick up a few supplies so there is still heavy traffic on the roads.”
“Where do you think our visitors would be heading, Captain?”
The man gave Vortigen a worried look, as if his commander might strip him of his new rank for not having an answer. “I don’t know,” he said.
“My guess is they are returning to the portal they came in by. Any signal from Outworld will be strongest there and the rebels will know that. They will risk detection to get the children closer.”
“Yes,” the captain agreed.
“Then they will be heading in this direction.” Vortigen concluded, pointing at an area of the image, which suddenly enlarged. “That is the direction they would have come in from if I am not mistaken. I want you to go there, Captain. Take a full squadron. Find that wagon, and what’s rolled up in those carpets, and you might be a major by dinner.”
“Yes sir!” the captain barked.
“Fail me, and you might find yourself in a cell, awaiting court martial. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir!”
“Be gone then.”
With that the soldier bustled out of the room.
Josh moved as if he were going to stand up and challenge Vortigen then and there, but Quiggle grabbed him. “That would be most unwise!” the valet whispered.
“But what am I going to do?”
“I don’t believe getting thrown into a dungeon would help your friends.”
Josh could almost hear Puddifant’s caustic agreement. “Love, my boy. Base your actions on love, not the rash dictates of hatred. You want to save Millie and Ian, not destroy Vortigen.”
60
Ian couldn’t decide what described his situation best. On the one hand, being stuffed into a musty old carpet made him feel like a sausage roll. But then again, it was sort of like being an earthworm. Mostly it was hot, itchy, and gritty. “Oh shut up,” Millie giggled, when he described his dilemma through the muffling layers of canvas and wool.
“Both of you will keep your gobs shut if you know what’s good for you — and for me,” their driver complained, touching off another round of laughter from the two carpets under the jumble of furniture in his wagon. To disguise their noise he snapped the reins and clucked at his horses. “Get along now Mercury,” he urged. “Come on Neptune.” His encouragements resulted in an almost imperceptible burst of speed which lasted perhaps something amounting to a fraction of a second.
“Gads,” the driver grumped. “You’re nothing but glue with snouts and legs, you two.”
This condemnation, which the nags had obviously heard before, provoked another round of laughter from the carpets, which in turn caused the drayman to groan grievously and snap the reins even more vigorously.
They were headed toward the Gallian Forest through Tilth. The highway had been busy, but the traffic had petered out the farther they got from The Habitations, until now they had the road almost to themselves. The afternoon had been a whirlwind of clandestine activities: first they had encountered Josh in his royal finery, then fled to the rebel safe house, then been interrogated by Charlie Underwood, and now they were on the road back to the place where they had entered Syde, bundled up in a couple of old carpets. Charlie Underwood had been very interested in Josh Dempster. “If he does ascend to the double throne, Vortigen will have free rein over the world,” Charlie explained. “We have to prevent that at all costs.”
“All costs?” Millie gulped.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said gravely. “Our object is to send your friend back to your own dimension. Injuring him in any way would only further Vortigen’s ends.”
“Then what do you intend to do,” she asked.
“First of all, send you home.”
“Wait a minute,” Ian cut in. “I’m not going anywhere without Josh.”
“Josh is not going anywhere unless you leave this place,” Charlie corrected.
“Huh?”
“He needs voices in Outworld — people to call him home. You two must rally those who love him and add your own voices to the chorus. It is his only chance. As long as you stay here, he has no chance of escaping.”
It didn’t make much sense, but Millie and Ian had to believe him. So they agreed to being rolled up in a couple of mangy old carpets and shipped to the Gallian Forest in the back of a rattling wagon. “Your prospects are not great,” Charlie had warned them. “But we have no choice. We must get you out of here now, and we have no better means of conveyance.”
Ian thought it amazing they had got as far as they had without being stopped. “If I were running an evil empire, I would do better,” he boasted. “I would have guards at every road leading out of town, and along the highway, too.”
“Don’t you worry, lad, Vortigen can hold his own with the worst of them when it comes to tyranny, although you Outworld types do give him some pretty stiff competition,” the driver opined. “Oh-oh, what’s this?” he said, suddenly alarmed.
“What’s wrong?” Ian wanted to know.
“Now pipe down the two of you, and this time I mean it,” the driver ordered. “There’s a squad of soldiers coming up from behind like the devil himself is on their tail.” He thought for a moment then said, “That means they’ve got something particular in mind, I’m thinkin’.”
“What?” Ian asked.
“Ian, shut up!” Millie snapped, not a hint of laughter in her voice now. “You’re going to get us caught, you idiot.”
“I suggest you listen to her,” the driver seconded. “But what I mean is this: They must know you’ve been taken out of town, or they wouldn’t be hurtling along the highway like that; which means they must know you are in a cart, because someone must have told them; which means it’s time for me to start up my beauties in earnest.
“Heyah!” he shouted. “Get along. Heyay!”
There was a slap of leather on the horses flanks, a clatter of hooves on dirt, then the wagon lurched forward.
“Oh my God!” Millie cried, “We’re never gong to get home now!”
Struggling and kicking, Ian burst out of his rough cocoon.
“Come on Millie. Get out of there!” he shouted, tearing open her wrapping.
They could hear the tattoo of the troops behind them now. Ian looked over the tailgate and cursed. The soldiers were about a hundred yards back, closing steadily.
“Do you have anything we can use as weapons?” he shouted.
“Well,” the old man grumbled, “There are some cushions on those chairs. Throw them at the blighters. That might make Vortigen’s elite troops fall down laughing.”
“Very funny,” Ian yelled.
“There is one hope,” the man shouted. “It’s desperate, but . . . ”
“What?” Millie demanded.
“Well, it’s you they’re after, not me.”
“Yes? So?” Ian prodded.
“So you two climb up onto my lovelies and I’ll cut you free. Without a wagon load of furniture to pull, these two might stand a chance against Vortigen’s cavalry.”
“What about you?”