The Song of the Quarkbeast: Last Dragonslayer: Book Two

by Jasper Fforde

‘Come in but be warned: ask me to help you by doing some M-word and I’ll punch you in the eye. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I stepped in and was immediately struck by the ordinariness of the interior. Of her past life as potentially one of the all-time greatest sorcerers ever, there was hardly any evidence at all. From the interior I could discern only that she was obsessed with Quarkbeasts to a degree that was probably unhealthy, played croquet for the county, and liked to cross-stitch cushions.

  ‘Nice place you have,’ I said.

  ‘Adequate for my needs,’ she replied, seemingly less unfriendly now we were in her house. ‘Which Quarkbeast was yours?’

  I took a picture from my shoulder bag and showed her.

  ‘The photographer was trembling with fear when he took it,’ I explained, ‘so it’s a bit blurred.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Once Magnificent Boo as she took the picture to a desk, where she opened a book full of Quarkbeast illustrations. It wasn’t just a rescue centre – she was studying them. She pulled out a picture and showed it to me.

  ‘Was that yours?’

  I stared carefully at the picture.

  ‘No.’

  She turned to the large Florentine mirror above the mantelpiece and held up the picture so I could see the same picture but in mirror image, and I felt a tear spring to my eye with the sudden recognition.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Not him, it,’ corrected Once Magnificent Boo, scribbling in a notepad. ‘Quarkbeasts are genderless. You had Q27. Is this the beast you saw in town?’

  She showed me the photograph I had given her of my Quarkbeast, but reflected in the mirror.

  ‘Yes, that’s him.’

  ‘Then we’ve got the pair of your Quarkbeast sniffing around – Q28. It took him two months to get here from Australia, which was to be expected. Quarkbeasts aren’t strong swimmers.’

  ‘It swam twelve thousand miles?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It only swam eight thousand miles – the rest would have been overland at a fast trot.’

  ‘That’s quite a migration.’

  ‘Quarks are remarkable beasts. Do you want to see some?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  We walked out of the back door, which I noted had been broken recently and hastily repaired, and into a paddock at the back, where four Quarkbeasts were happily sunning themselves.

  ‘Quark,’ said the one closest.

  ‘Quark,’ said another.

  ‘Quark,’ said the third.

  ‘Quark,’ came the muffled call of one that was inside the pen.

  It was quite an emotional moment, and although their calls were subtly different and none of them looked like mine, they all looked as if they might be, which is a bit odd and unnerving.

  ‘That’s Q3,’ said Boo, pointing to a mangy-looking specimen who was missing most of its back-plates. ‘I rescued it from a Quarkbaiting ring. A very cruel sport. Over there is Q11, which got run over on the M50 and was dragged for six miles. You can still see the eight grooves its claws made in the road all the way to the Newent exit from the Premier Inn. Q35 is the one in the iron filings wallow. It was captured alive in the jam and biscuit section of the Holmer Road Co-op. The beast with the missing teeth is Q23. I got it from the zoo after they thought it was frightening the public too much. I had them all registered as dangerous pets. Legally, no one can touch them – not even the colonel.’

  She looked at me for a moment, then opened a cardboard box that contained tins of dog food. She picked them up with her gloved hand and tossed them toward the Quarkbeasts, which crunched them up eagerly, tin and all.

  ‘What do the neighbours think about having them here?’ I asked, since the four of them looked so intimidating that only those well acquainted with the species would be relaxed in their company.

  ‘They’re okay about it – they think it keeps burglars at bay. It doesn’t.’

  She indicated the broken back door.

  ‘Last Tuesday night. Did the beasts let out a single Quark? Not a bit of it.’

  ‘Take much, did they?’ I asked, stalling as I tried to figure out a way to raise the ‘can you help us?’ issue without getting punched in the eye.

  ‘Money, jewellery, that kind of stuff. I thought of leaving a Quarkbeast in the house at night, but, well, there are some things you baulk at doing, even to burglars.’

  She was right. No one deserves a savaging by a Quarkbeast – or even being surprised by one when you’re off doing a spot of innocent villainy.

  ‘Do they like it here?’

  ‘They seem happy, but since they’re running on Mandrake Sentience Emulation Protocols to make us think they’re real, we can’t ever know for sure.’

  ‘So what is Q28 doing in town?’ I asked. ‘If its twin is dead, it can’t be looking for him, surely?’

  The Once Magnificent Boo stared at me intently.

  ‘Are you ready to be confused?’

  ‘It’s how I spend most of my days at Zambini Towers.’

  ‘Then here it is: Quarkbeasts breed by creating an exact mirror copy of themselves – and since the Mighty Shandar created only one Quarkbeast, every Quarkbeast is a copy of every other Quarkbeast, only opposite.’

  ‘I was blown back to front yesterday,’ I said. ‘Is that the same thing?’

  ‘No, and if I were you, I should stay that way. It will save your life.’

  ‘Right. But wait a minute,’ I said, looking at the picture of Q26, the one that paired to give mine, ‘if Q27 is the mirror of Q26 and Q28 is the mirror of Q27, then why don’t Q26 and Q28 look the same? Alternate generations must be identical, yes?’

  ‘No. It’s more complicated than that. They create identical copies of themselves in six different flavours: Up, Down, Charm, Strange, Top and Bottom. All are opposite and equal, but all uniquely different and alike at the same time.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I said, feeling increasingly lost.

  ‘I still have problems with it after twenty years,’ confessed Boo. ‘The complexities of the Quarkbeast are fundamentally unknowable. But here’s the point: there can only ever be thirty-six completely unique yet identical Quarkbeasts, and as soon as the combinations are fulfilled, they will come together and merge into a single Quota of fully Quorumed Quarkbeasts.’

  ‘What will happen then?’

  ‘Something wonderful. All the great unanswered questions of the world will be answered. Who are we? What are we here for? Where will we end up? And most important of all: can mankind actually get any stupider? The Quarkbeast is more then an animal, it’s an oracle to assist in mankind’s illusive search for meaning, truth and fulfilment.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t take my word for it – it was foreseen by Sister Yolanda of Kilpeck.’

  Yolanda was a good precog. If she said enlightenment would be attained when there was a full thirty-six Quarkbeast Quota, there was a good chance it would.

  ‘When will this quota happen?’

  ‘Good question. The last near-Quota was two months ago. For eight minutes there were thirty-four Quarkbeasts in existence. When yours died it dropped to thirty-three. By the end of the week there were twenty-nine. We’re down to fifteen at the moment. The colonel needs to be stopped. Quarkbeasts shouldn’t be messed around with, and never held against their will. Can I rely on you to do what you can to ensure it remains free?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I suddenly had an idea.

  ‘They use magic to copy themselves, don’t they?’

  ‘You learn fast,’ she replied. ‘They do, but since they require a whopping 1.2 GigaShandars for a successful separation they can’t do it alone. They need a sorcerer of considerable power to channel the energy. They can store power, too, just like fireflies – only unlike fireflies, which transmit it out as light immediately, Quarks can store it for a day or two.’

  ‘Patrick surged yesterday. There was a Quarkbeast close by.’

&
nbsp; ‘Pat’s a sweet man, but he doesn’t have the skill to channel that amount of power. Since Zambini vanished, no one has. Quark division is unlikely, but if it happens, we have plans in hand. See that vehicle over there?’

  She pointed to a riveted titanium box about the size of small garden shed that was mounted on the back of a rusty E-type Jaguar fitted with blue lights and sirens.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Quarkbeasts have to be separated within a thousand seconds of dividing or they may merge again with devastating results,’ said Boo. ‘I’m the Kingdom’s Beastcatcher, so I have full emergency vehicle status. If you think a pair are about to conjoin, call 999 and yell “Quarkbeast” in a panicked, half-strangled cry of terror. They’ll put you straight through.’

  I took a deep breath. It was now or never. I looked behind me to make sure there were no sharp objects close by.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Boo.

  ‘I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to punch me in the eye, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt myself on the way down.’

  She glared at me with her inky-black eyes, and a coldness suddenly washed around me as though someone had opened a tomb. I closed my eyes.

  ‘I need help,’ I said. ‘Magic is in dire straits.’

  I winced, expecting the blow to fall, but it didn’t. After a few seconds I opened my eyes to find that Once Magnificent Boo had walked away and was dropping a truck gearbox into the beasts’ compound, where they would gnaw off the soft aluminium casing and use the harder cogs for nesting.

  ‘Magic is always in dire straits,’ said Boo, ‘it’s the nature of magic. But that part of my life has finished. I can do nothing for you. I haven’t cast a single spell since the anti-magic extremists dumped me in that roadside rest area thirty-three years ago.’

  ‘But Blix wants to control Kazam and commercialise magic,’ I pleaded. ‘We can’t let it happen.’

  She took several steps closer in a menacing fashion and I backed away until I had my back pressed against a water butt. She looked at me with her empty eyes and spoke in a low voice that seemed to reverberate inside my head.

  ‘And who’s better qualified to decide what’s best for Magic? Blix or Zambini?’

  ‘Zambini.’

  ‘Are you sure? The right way, the wrong way – it’s all regulation. Maybe magic shouldn’t be regulated at all. Maybe it should take its own path, like the Quarkbeast, unfettered by our meddling. Perhaps magic needs to be used for evil before it can take the right course for good, and if so, Zambini’s need to control it is as damaging as Blix’s. The only thing that separates the pair of them is their viewpoint and dress sense.’

  This was true; Zambini was a shabby dresser, and Blix was always well turned out.

  ‘With respect, you’re wrong,’ I said. ‘Zambini’s nothing like Blix. He’s kind and good and honest and—’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Okay, yes, but Blix is no friend to the right and true direction of magic, and I need help to defeat him.’

  She took another step towards me and was now so close that I could feel her breath on my face and see every detail of her face. From the fine capillaries in her eyes to the broken blood vessels on the side of her nose. Her eyes were very black – it looked as if she had just massive pupils and no iris at all.

  ‘I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone any more.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can do or say to persuade you to help us?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  The Once Magnificent Boo turned back to the Quarkbeasts and continued to feed them, so I thanked her, said goodbye and returned to my car.

  I drove back into town in a despondent mood. I was disappointed but not surprised that Boo had rejected my request, and with it had ended any realistic hope of winning the contest. I would have to think very carefully about either taking Blix’s offer to concede the contest, or come up with another plan, and quickly.

  And that was when a large black Daimler 4x4 with tinted windows pulled in front of me. I stamped heavily on the brakes and skidded to a halt.

  The High North Tower

  * * *

  I slammed the Volkswagen into reverse as another Daimler screeched to a halt behind me. I opened the car door and tried to jump out, but in my hurry I’d forgotten to unlatch my seat belt, and was still struggling to extricate myself when four huge bodyguards dragged me out of the car, put a hood over my head and cuffs on my wrists and threw me into the back of their car.

  ‘Don’t hurt me,’ I said from the floor as the car sped off.

  ‘Then be a good girl and don’t struggle,’ came a patronising voice.

  ‘It’s not for my benefit,’ I told them, ‘it’s for yours. If I lose my temper, those of you still conscious in five minutes will be picking up the teeth of those who aren’t.’

  There was a pause and I was then picked up and placed on a seat.

  ‘Comfy?’ came the same voice, this time tinged with a little more respect. It seemed they had been briefed not to underestimate me.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Cuffs not too tight?’

  ‘No, they’re fine.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ I said in a sweet voice, just to unnerve him, ‘you’re most kind.’

  The journey was not long, and from the sounds of creaking drawbridges and tyres on cobbles it didn’t take a genius to figure out where I was being taken. After a short time the car stopped and I was carried bodily up a long flight of steps. I was then laid on a soft bed and heard some hurried footsteps, a door slam, a lock turn, and then hurried steps down a stone staircase followed by another door, another lock turning, and then the whole thing repeated itself until I could no longer hear them.

  After a few seconds my bonds and hood melted away into nothing. Proof, if any were needed, of Blix’s involvement.

  As expected, I was in the High North Tower of the King’s castle at Snodd Hill. It was comfortable if a bit austere in the ‘medieval dreary chic’ style, similar to the Useless Brother’s office, and the large pile of provisions and bottled water clearly meant that I was to be here for some time – or at the very least, until after the contest. I tried the door to find it firmly locked, then looked out of the window. The High North Tower had been well if unimaginatively named, being a tower, to the north and, most pertinent to me, high. The room was circular and barely twenty feet across, and it sat precariously atop a long and mildly off-kilter column of crumbling stonework.

  I wasn’t going to escape from here without a lot of help.

  After a wait of almost two hours, the phone rang.

  ‘Pinocchio’s Pizzas?’ I replied, picking it up.

  ‘Oh, sorry, wrong number,’ came Blix’s voice before the phone went dead.

  I smiled to myself as I replaced the receiver, then waited a couple of seconds before it rang again.

  ‘Hello, Blix,’ I said before he could say anything, ‘adding kidnapping to your long list of felonies?’

  ‘We prefer to think of it as “holidaying at the specific invitation of His Majesty”,’ replied Blix. ‘Open the top drawer of the bureau.’

  I did so, and found an agreement for Kazam to concede the competition, and all the details that Blix had already outlined. The document had been prepared by a firm of solicitors in Financia and lodged with the Ununited Kingdoms’ Supreme Court, so even if King Snodd had wanted to rescind the deal, he couldn’t.

  ‘It’s all there,’ said Blix. ‘I knew my or the King’s word would not be good enough, so I made it official. Sign it and your holiday in the North Tower is over.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then you’ll stay there until six Mondays from now, and we’ll have Kazam for nothing.’

  ‘Blix?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you in the castle watching the top of the North Tower at the moment?’

  ‘I might be.’

  I ripped the phone from the wall, and
tossed it out of the open window. It took almost five seconds to hit the ground.

  I went and sat on the bed, glad of a quiet time to think. Oddly enough, the one thing that gave me any confidence that we’d win the contest was the fact that Blix was still nervous enough to want to do deals. I went over the events of the past few days as I attempted to find something I had missed that might help us. The answer had to be there.

  I was stirred from my thoughts by the wail of an air-raid siren and the unmistakable crack of an artillery piece close by. I looked out of the window as the massed anti-aircraft defences of Snodd Hill Castle opened up as one, a cacophony of noise so loud I had to put my hands over my ears, and with the shells bursting so close that I could hear the shrapnel striking the tower. One piece of red-hot steel flew in the window and landed on the bed, where it began to smoulder; I used my handkerchief to pick it up and dumped it in the sink.

  I ventured another look out and amid the din, smell of cordite and black bursts of flak that were drifting past my window, I saw something shoot past, the flak-bursts following it. The notion of the Kingdom being under attack was unlikely as the king currently had no enemies interested enough to attack him, and it was only when my name was called that I realised what was going on.

  ‘Jenny!’ came Prince Nasil’s familiar voice, as he whipped past on his carpet. ‘Can’t stop!’ he added as he went back past in the opposite direction, then yelled ‘Jump!’ as he tore past the third time, with two anti-aircraft shells exploding so close the tower shook and plaster fell from the ceiling.

  I needed no further bidding. I shoved Blix’s concession agreement into my bag, waited until the Prince turned to make another pass, and then jumped out of the window.

  I’d never fallen from a high tower before and would not hope to do so again, but after the initial sense of fear and rapid acceleration, the only thing I could feel was the air rushing past me. I could see the top of the tower move swiftly away from me as I fell, and didn’t see the Prince at all until he gently scooped me out of the air. With a flick of the carpet we were out of the range of the artillery, which stopped as quickly as it had begun.

  ‘Thanks for the rescue,’ I said, ‘but it might have been easier and safer to extract me at night.’