The Skin Map be-1

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “Okay, okay,” conceded the younger man. “Whatever.”

  “Stop evading the question. Are you ready to join me?”

  “Yeah, well there’s a little problem with that. This girl I know-my girlfriend, Mina-is waiting for me back home. In Stane Way, actually. We were supposed to come here together and-”

  “What?”

  “I was just going to show her, but she didn’t make the jump.”

  “Make the jump?” echoed Cosimo, his brows lowering in a scowl. “What did you do, Kit?”

  “Nothing!” protested Kit. “I was just going to show her. She didn’t believe me, so I wanted to show her the ley line, you know. Well, the same thing happened as last time, and I ended up here, but she got left on the other side.”

  “Stupid boy!” roared Cosimo. “How could you do something so utterly asinine?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” replied Kit lamely. “Anyway, there’s no reason to assume the worst. Nothing happened.”

  “You’d better hope so.”

  “She’ll take the tube home. Big deal. She’ll be royally annoyed at me, but she’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know what you’ve done, do you? You haven’t the foggiest idea how incredibly dangerous this is.”

  “No, I-” Kit began, then paused. “How dangerous?”

  “More dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”

  “But you said if I changed my mind I was to come back, so-”

  “I didn’t expect you to try to bring along your paramour. I suppose you told her everything? Why not tell half of London while you’re at it-place a notice in the Times, broadcast it on the BBC?” The elder fellow shook his head in dismay. “Well, the churn is upturned. All that remains is to assess the damage. Pray that it is not a complete disaster.”

  Kit frowned. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry. Let’s move on.”

  “See here, my boy. Telluric energy is one of the more subtle yet powerful forces in the universe-the least understood and probably the most unpredictable,” explained Cosimo. “You have travelled through what some are pleased to call a low-frequency window-a threshold, if you will, separating dimensions. You have ended up here, as anticipated, but there is no way to tell where your girlfriend has gone.”

  “But she didn’t go anywhere,” Kit protested. “She didn’t follow me. She stayed on the other side…” One glance at the elder man’s face and he lost all confidence in this assertion. He finished weakly, “Didn’t she?”

  “It is possible, but not at all certain. You have neither the skill nor experience to be bringing others with you. In time, should you live long enough, you may develop your talents. But until then, you really must refrain from attempting to drag others along-however good an idea it might seem at the time.”

  “Well, I didn’t know, did I?” muttered Kit peevishly.

  “I suspect your friend travelled too,” Cosimo continued, “but inasmuch as she did not arrive here, we must surmise she went somewhere else.”

  “Where, then?”

  “That’s the trouble, you see-the possibilities are endless. Your friend could be anywhere or anywhen.”

  “Anywhen?”

  “Moving from one world or dimension to another, you inevitably travel in time as well. There is no way around it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Time travel, of course.” Kit realized then why he had arrived back in London eight hours late, and he grasped the fact that Sefton-on-Sea was something other than a quaint tourist attraction.

  “Stay right here,” commanded the old man. “Don’t move a muscle. Can you do that for two minutes end to end?”

  “Got it, professor.”

  “Good,” said Cosimo, already starting away. He turned back after only a few steps. “What does this Mina of yours look like?” Kit offered a brief description, including the colour of her jacket and the trousers she was wearing. “Yes, that’s enough,” said the old man. He turned and walked into the shadows. His body grew hazy-as if viewed through the pane of a frosted glass window. There was a sudden gust of wind, and he vanished completely.

  Kit waited and wondered how long he would have to stand in the alley. The thought was still bouncing around in his head when he felt the breeze stir and saw Cosimo hurrying out of the shadows once more.

  “She’s not there.”

  “Where?”

  “Stane Way.”

  “Maybe she went home.”

  “No, she should have been exactly where you left her.”

  Kit shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Cosimo shook his head slowly. “You really have no idea what’s going on here, do you?”

  “If you put it like that,” muttered Kit, “I guess not.”

  “If your friend has travelled to another plane of existence it is a problem-a very big problem-and one that must be addressed with all urgency and seriousness of purpose. So, come along, my boy.” Cosimo began moving toward the seafront. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine. He’s giving a lecture this evening, and I’ve arranged for us to have dinner afterwards. We’ll explain the situation to him. As it happens, he’s a colleague and a scientist, and he may be able to help.”

  They emerged from the alley and walked along the quayside. The seafront was quieter, almost deserted now. The large schooner was still there, but the stevedores and fishermen were gone, their boats secured for the night. A sprinkling of early stars was beginning to appear in the eastern sky, and the sun was going down like a molten globe behind the blue-shadowed headland. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight…,” mused Kit. The sea was calm and taking on a silvery glow.

  They soon came to a deeply rutted road and turned onto it. With the bay at their backs, the two proceeded up a steep slope, climbing through a clutch of low houses to the top of the sheltering hill. Kit was puffing and sweating as they gained the rim, and he was allowed to pause and catch his breath. The bay spread out below them in a gleaming arc, bronzed by the light of a setting sun.

  “Where are we going?” Kit asked, feeling the air cool the sweat on his skin.

  “See that stone?” Cosimo pointed to a finger-thin standing stone beside the road a couple hundred yards away. “That marks a ley I have found particularly useful.” He cast a hasty glance at the darkening sky. “We’d best be getting along.”

  They continued on the road at a sprightly pace. The old man seemed to gain vigour with every step, and Kit found himself having to scurry time and again to keep up. Upon reaching the standing stone, Kit called, “Hey! Can we stop a second?”

  Cosimo stopped. “Young people have no endurance.”

  “We have other qualities.” Kit stooped, hands on knees, and gulped air.

  “Sorry, old chap, but we must push on,” his grandsire said. “We really cannot dillydally any longer.”

  He beetled off again, leaving the road and forging out cross-country, striding through long grass toward a broad rise, the first of a bank of hills glowing deep emerald in the dusky twilight. Kit followed, jogging to keep up.

  “The leys are mostly time sensitive, you see,” Cosimo informed him. These words were still being spoken when out of nowhere sounded a horrendous, blood-stopping snarl. The sound echoed across the quickly darkening landscape, driving out all lesser sounds.

  “What was that?”

  “We’ve been careless,” said Cosimo. “Now they’ve found us.”

  “Who?” Kit demanded, looking around frantically for the source of the unnerving growl. “What was that?”

  “Listen to me,” said Cosimo, desperation edging into his tone. “Do exactly as I say without hesitation or deviation.”

  The snarl erupted again-a vicious, guttural rumble that reverberated in the pit of his stomach.

  “Sure,” said Kit, trying to look everywhere at once. “What do we do?”

  Three dark shapes appeared at the spot where they had left the road. They hesitated for a moment, then picked up the trail and came upon two
vaguely human shapes either side of a low-slung mass too small for a horse but too big for a dog.

  “Pay attention,” snapped Cosimo. “That notch-” He pointed to a V-shaped cleft in the crest of the hill directly above them. “See it?”

  Kit nodded.

  “Run for it and don’t look back.” He gave the young man a slap on the back. “Go!”

  Kit scrambled for the notch, climbing, leaping, flying over the uneven ground. Shouts rang out in the valley below; he ignored them. Upon reaching the curious gap cut in the rim of the hill, he paused and risked a fleeting backward glance. In the fading light he imagined he saw an enormous cat roughly the size of a small pony, tawny brown with a spray of dark spots across its muscular shoulders and back. The creature was straining at a leash made from an iron chain in the grip of a very large man. A second man of similar size carried a torch. Both wore wide-brimmed green hats and long green coats.

  Cosimo pounded up behind him. “Kit! Don’t stop. This way.” His grandfather motioned for him to follow. “Hurry!”

  Stretching out across the broad upland expanse, Kit saw a thin trail worn in the grass. He set his feet to it and started running.

  “Stay right where you are!” shouted one of the men behind them.

  “You know what we want,” came the voice beyond the flashlight.

  “Give it to us,” added the voice at the end of the chained cat. “You can walk free-you and your little friend there. No harm done.”

  “I don’t have it,” shouted Cosimo, frantically gesturing for Kit to keep moving. “Now leave us alone. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “It’s time to pay the piper, old man,” said the one restraining the chained beast.

  “I may be forced to use violence,” Cosimo called. “I’m warning you.”

  A dry laugh was the only reply he received.

  Cosimo moved on down the path with Kit right behind.

  “You can’t get away!” shouted the man holding the chain. “Stop, or we’ll let Baby gnaw on your leg bones.”

  “One last chance,” called the man with the torch. “Give us the map-and you’ll walk away in one piece.”

  “I’ll count to three,” said his companion, “and then I’m going to release Baby.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” called Cosimo over his shoulder. “I don’t have it.”

  “One…”

  “A very big mistake, indeed.”

  “Two…”

  “Grab my hand, Kit,” urged Cosimo, his voice a tense whisper. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

  “Three!”

  There was a rattle of chain, and the brute shouted, “Feed, Baby! Kill!”

  The huge cat seemed to gather itself, then gave out an ear-shattering roar as it launched itself at them.

  Kit, grasping the old man’s hand, felt himself pulled along with such force it nearly wrenched his arm from the socket. The creature bounded effortlessly up the hill and onto the trail, dragging its oversized keeper with it. If not for the man hanging onto the end of the chain, the beast would have been on them in an instant. As it was, the human slowed the animal enough for them to stay a step or two ahead of it-until Kit stepped in a hole, stumbled, and went down-inadvertently releasing his grip.

  He squirmed on the ground and caught a glimpse of a curved tooth and the evil glint of a golden eye. He felt the air vibrate with the creature’s roar as it bounded nearer. Hauling himself up, he lurched into flight once more and heard the clatter of the chain and the dreadful rush of great clawed feet slicing through the grass. Somehow, Kit snagged the old man’s hand once more and, holding on like grim death, was yanked farther along the track. The next thing he knew they were running hard into a rising headwind. He felt drizzle on his face, and he could hear cursing and shouting behind them.

  “Don’t stop!” cried the old man. “Keep running.”

  Their pursuers’ voices seemed to dwindle behind them, growing smaller and farther away.

  “Hold on!” cried Cosimo. “Here we go!”

  The wild howl of the enraged cat was suddenly swallowed by the shriek of the wind as Kit sprawled headlong into the unknown.

  CHAPTER 5

  In Which Kit Attends a Lecture at the Royal Society for the Improvement of Natural Knowledge

  The next moment was filled with the scream of the wind and blinding rain. It lasted only a second or two, and when he could see again Kit found himself on his hands and knees in yet another coal-dark alley-this one stinking of urine and slops. But the storm that had brought them was quickly vanishing. “Are we…?” he gasped.

  “Safe now,” Cosimo reassured him. “We gave them the slip. As soon as you’re ready, we should be getting along.”

  Kit spat and raised his head. They were in a space between two clapboard buildings-so narrow, he could have touched either wall with outstretched hands. The passageway was sunk in the deep gloom of night. He dragged himself together and stood, wiping something unpleasant from his hands onto his trousers. “Who were those guys?”

  “All will be revealed, dear boy,” Cosimo said, “but not here. Not now. We had best be on our way.” He took off his coat and, handing it to Kit, said, “Put this on.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not too wet.”

  “It’s not for warmth, dear boy. We have to cover your clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “We cannot risk drawing the wrong kind of attention.”

  Kit pulled on the coat, and Cosimo led them out of the alley and onto a street lit in a haphazard fashion by the soft glow of lanterns on poles and hanging from the windows of buildings. Most of the structures were wooden, of the old half-timbered variety: black-and-white with steeply pitched roofs, tiny diamond-patterned windows, and deep-set eaves over the narrow wooden boardwalks that fronted them. A horse-drawn cart clattered by, disappearing into the night.

  Something about the atmosphere of the place felt uncannily familiar. “Is this London?” Kit asked.

  “Well done,” commended Cosimo. He fished an old-fashioned watch from an inner pocket. “We’re a little late, so we’ll have to hurry. This way.” He charged off down the deserted street. “And do step lively.”

  “After you.” Kit followed and immediately felt his right shoe sink into soft mush; his delicate stomach was instantly assaulted by the sharp tang of fresh, ripe horse manure, and too late he understood what his great-grandfather meant. “Oh, that lively,” he said, scraping his foot vigorously against a kerbstone. “Right.”

  They turned onto a larger thoroughfare and strolled along, occasionally passing through banks of wispy fog steeped in coal smoke. Few pedestrians were about, but they were overtaken by the occasional carriage. The comforting clip-clop of horses’ hooves made a rhythmic music as they walked along. Kit marvelled at the monumental facades of buildings that, though mostly made of timber, nevertheless seemed vaguely familiar beneath their thick black patina of soot. He marvelled, too, at how wide and open and empty was the avenue they walked along: absent the customary clutter and congestion of the overcrowded modern city. Gone was the glare of electric advertising; gone the garish storefronts, shop windows, and hoardings; gone the irradiating blaze of streetlight, spotlight, and floodlight. There was no rampant tangle of power lines and telephone wires, no thrusting television aerials or satellite dishes, no utility poles or junction boxes. As with the little fishing village, no taxis, buses, cars, scooters, or other motorised vehicles plied the roads-all of which made for a quieter, more tranquil city, to be sure, but also a much darker one.

  This was, Kit decided, how the old dame had appeared once upon a time. “When are we? What year?” he asked.

  “Sixteen hundred and sixty-six,” answered Cosimo. “September the second, to be exact.”

  “A few years after the Restoration, then,” remarked Kit. “Samuel Pepys and all that.”

  “In Home World terms, it would be,” agreed Cosimo.

  “Home World?”
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  “The Origin World,” he explained. “Or, as you might say, the real world. It’s the place where you and I were born.”

  “But isn’t this-?” began Kit, looking around. “I thought-”

  “No,” replied Cosimo, shaking his head. “This isn’t time travel, remember. We’ve gone to another place.”

  “Which just happens to be in another time?”

  “Precisely. This is not simply Restoration England revisited,” he explained. “This particular England has its own history and is developing along its own evolutionary route. Similar-given a common starting point-but different, and those differences multiply year on year.”

  “An alternative history,” volunteered Kit, “in an alternative world.”

  “So to speak,” granted Cosimo. “But, in this particular England, we’re not in the Restoration because there never was a cessation of the monarchy. Charles the First was never deposed. In fact, there was no Civil War at all.”

  “Really?” wondered Kit. “No Royalists, no Roundheads? No Oliver Cromwell smashing things up and bossing everybody around with pikes?”

  “Oh, they’re about. But in this England, Cromwell is an itinerant preacher. He’s still a right pain in the arse, but relatively harmless.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “In fact, the entire political climate is very different, as you will see.” Cosimo stopped and, fishing in an inner pocket of his coat, brought out a key ring. “We’re here,” he said. He stepped to the door of a modest clapboard building and entered.

  Kit followed, standing in the gloom of a long, unlit hallway as his great-grandfather fumbled the key into an unseen lock. There was a click and the creak of iron hinges. A voice drifted back to him. “Stay there.”

  The air was stale and heavy with the scent of mildew and rancid fat from cheap candles. Kit waited, listening to the tiny scratching of mice cavorting behind the wainscoting. In a few moments he saw a faint, ruddy glow emanating from the room Cosimo had disappeared into, and then another and another as additional candles were lit. “You can come in, now,” Cosimo told him. “Shut the door behind you.”