The Balloon in his dreams.
The Balloons in the Woods.
Forbes at his Grinder.
Max at his Grinder.
And teeth!
Teeth everywhere!
Biting. Chewing. Chomping. Hands gone. Bodies gone. People gone. Everything chewed up in bits and swallowed. Tangled and together and round and round and round.
All the bits of him from the Woods—sent into the World.
That’s how I Appeared…
Yes! It must be!
I fell into the Grinder…
And the Kobolds made you into a Storybook.
And I went into the Light.
And the Light put you in the World.
Along with all the little bits of me… All the bits of my story…
And the Woods and the World had been pulled together.
Because that was a part of him too: as a Kobold he’d wished the Woods was like the World. As Max he’d wished the World was like the Woods.
But not any more. He knew now they needed to be separate.
I need to go in again… That’s how to reverse the Appearance. It’s the only way to make things right!
You can’t! You need to stop Courtz first! Otherwise who’d make the Storybook?
He stopped with his hand on the railing.
She was right.
He turned.
Mrs Jeffers, Porterholse, Ulla and Mommsen were still surrounded by Forest Folk. They gazed up at him, horror-struck by the Dark Man’s disappearance into the Grinder.
“Deal with them!” Courtz said, pointing at Mrs Jeffers and the others. “They’re dreamers, too. All of them.”
“You LIED!” Max howled.
He raced down the steps, but was immediately caught and held by one of the villagers. Kicking and screaming, he watched as the Forest Folk lifted their flashlights.
Mrs Jeffers.
Mommsen.
Ulla.
Porterholse.
They all squeezed their eyes shut. And then—
BOOM!
On the other side of the room.
The door burst open. Three Forest Folk were flung backwards.
The Dark Max was in the doorway. Eyes blazing. A Storybook in each hand.
HE’S ALIVE!
He… it’s the Wildness… oh my God I’m going to GET HIM!
A villager leapt at him. The Dark Man clubbed him to the ground with a Storybook. Behind him came three more Dark Men, holding branches ripped from Briarback trees. Outside, the tunnel was a chaos of bodies locked in combat, flying objects, rocks, stones, and most of all, leaping Kobolds.
The Forest Folk raced for the door, flashlights blazing.
Faster than fast, the Borises with branches whirled through them, unharmed. Knocked the flashlights out of their hands. The Boris with Books roared into the corridor.
“NOW!!”
And then Kobolds were pouring into the Paper Room. Gnawing. Tearing. Biting.
SNAPSNAPSNAPSNAPSNAP
The Forest Folk fell back under the onslaught—but only for a moment. The villagers operating the Grinder raced into the fray, snatching up the fallen flashlights. The first ranks of Kobolds began to burn. More followed after, but had to come through the door, and it was easy for the Forest Folk to pick them off.
One Dark Man went down, buried under three Forest Folk.
Another was pinned against a wall.
More flashlights were retrieved.
The Forest Folk marched towards the door to secure it. The Dark Men lay snarling on the floor. The last few Kobolds hopped about, leaping between the lancing beams of New Light.
“GET THEM!” the Witch screamed, hopping from foot to foot. “GET THE LITTLE MONSTERS!”
But in all this chaos, in the sudden ferocity of the attack, in their surprise and in their shock, and even in their victory, the Forest Folk had forgotten the most important thing, forgotten the most important thing by far: To Keep An Eye On The Wind Giant.
The attack had only had that purpose.
And now, he had no flashlights on him.
His buttons popped.
His trousers burst.
His shoes exploded.
“FOR THE WOODS!” Porterholse boomed.
Wind slammed across the chamber, knocking everyone off their feet. The villager holding Max toppled backwards. The wooden vats near the Grinder were tossed over, and the air swirled with a blinding blizzard of Briarback leaves. Flashlights went slamming into the walls, breaking apart in showers of glass.
Max kicked himself free and rushed to Mrs Jeffers and the others, forcing his way through the gale. She was helping Mommsen to his feet. Ulla Andromeda was crouched low, her eyes flashing.
“Courtz?” she yelled as Max ran up. “Where is he? He mustn’t get away!”
Through the storm and the confusion of bodies, he saw the scientist staggering towards the door. But before any of them could give chase, the Wasp Witch appeared.
“Well, well,” she snarled. “The Chief Wizard and the High Witch. You miserable bureaucrats!”
She hefted her flashlight and slid her thumb across the button.
click
The light flickered and died.
She scowled and shook the flashlight.
clickclickclickclick
“What’s the good of a light that runs on batteries?” Mommsen muttered. “Mrs Jeffers? Would you be so kind?”
“Certainly, Theo.”
Old Light scythed through the air.
“Missed!” growled the Witch. “You old has-been!”
Theodore Mommsen stepped forwards. “PLOP!” he said, jabbing the Witch in the face with his cane.
Her head toppled backwards and bounced across the floor.
The rest of the Witch dropped the flashlight, crouched and began feeling about for her stray head. Ulla Andromeda got to it first, trapping it underfoot.
“You second-rate hacks!” the Witch’s head snarled up. “You call yourselves a Coven? I’VE MADE MORE PATENTS THAN THE LOT OF YOU PUT TOGE—”
click
POOF!
“Works for me,” Ulla muttered. Shrugging, she tossed the flashlight aside.
“You have the knack for this World gadgetry,” Mommsen said. “Now, where’s that Tinker got to? Lower the Wind, Porterholse!”
The Wind Giant sagged back against the wall, and the storm subsided. Courtz, though, was nowhere to be seen. Kobolds were swarming into the room by the dozen. The Forest Folk, badly outnumbered and stripped of their flashlights, were backing against the wall.
THERE HE IS!
He was being dragged back into the Paper Room. One of the Dark Men had him in his grip. His face twisted with fury, he hauled Courtz across the floor with one hand.
What’s he going to do?
He’s going to throw him in the Grinder!
No… no he won’t do that.
But the Dark Man was already dragging Courtz up the steps to the platform.
You sure?
Max ran after him.
“NO!” he shouted. “Boris! Don’t!”
The Dark Man had his hands round Courtz’s throat and was slowly forcing him backwards over the railing.
Max hauled on his arm. “Listen to me! Boris! It’s not him that needs to go in! It’s me! It’s me!”
The Dark Man stood there, panting, his shoulders trembling. Then he pulled Courtz back and threw him onto the platform.
“I know you do,” he said. “I know.” He nodded wearily. “I guess… it’s your turn… to follow me.”
5
AN INDUSTRIAL ACCIDENT
Max stood on the platform of the Grinder and looked down at his friends.
It was time to say goodbye.
First came Ulla and Mommsen.
“Once you go, you will never be able to return,” the Chief Wizard said solemnly. “If what you say is true, the Woods and the World will be pushed far apart. Further apart than they have ever been, perhaps.”
“I know,” Max said. “But… it’s the only way to stop the Vanishings.”
“On that we’re all agreed,” Ulla said, nodding. She leant forwards and kissed Max lightly on the cheek. “You would have made a wonderful Dragon Hunter!” she whispered.
Mommsen winked at Max, shook his hand and followed her down the steps.
Porterholse came after.
The Wind Giant was strangely subdued.
“Do you remember when you would sit on the hill in Newton Fields and look at the trees swaying in the Wind?” he asked quietly, his moist eyes gazing fondly at Max. “Do you remember?”
Max nodded. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
Porterholse nodded back. “It will always be me!”
With that, the Wind Giant burst into tears, and was led away, before he caused an incident.
Then came Mrs Jeffers. She was holding one of Porterholse’s handkerchiefs.
“Just in case you cry,” she said, handing it to him. “I’m not going to. Well, I might. Later on, when nobody can see.”
“I’m not going to remember you, am I?” Max asked. “I’m not going to remember any of this.”
“No,” she said. “No, dear boy. You won’t remember a thing. Oh dear!”
“What’s wrong?”
She smiled at him, her eyes glittering. “It’s later on already!”
Shuffling forwards, her arms out, she took him in a hug stronger than any he’d ever known. “When you light a candle, dear boy, then you’ll remember us!” she whispered hoarsely. “At least, the general idea of us. That’s what Old Light is good at!”
Squeezing him one last time, she too went down the steps.
And then it was the Dark Man, and they simply looked at each other.
“I’m not sure who I’ll be, when you meet me,” Boris said. “But you’ll meet me. I’ve gone ahead, after all. Or one of me has. They’ll put us in the same Storybook—so we’ll be together in the World.”
“I know,” Max said. “But what about you? Are you going to be OK in the Woods? They said you won’t be able to get back to the World.”
Boris smiled. “I’ll tell you something strange,” he said after a moment. “When I was hiding from the Forest Folk in the Arboretum, just before I brought the Wildness, I decided something important.”
“What?”
“I decided this would be the last time. That I didn’t want to see them any more.”
“The Accursed Questions?”
“Yes. I made a decision.” He smiled again, and shook his head in amazement at himself. “I never knew I could just decide.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Now?” Boris breathed out, his eyes wide. “Now, I want to sleep, and enjoy life, the way that other people sleep and enjoy life. It’s time for me to be happy.” He nodded thoughtfully. “The Woods are a good place to grow a garden. Maybe I will do that. Grow potatoes and cherry trees. Every year—have a Yule Log!” He stopped, struggling a little. “Max, goodbye!”
For a while Max disappeared inside the hug. Then the Dark Man stepped back. Their eyes filled with tears, and each one that trickled down their cheeks said everything they had left to say. And a lot was said—maybe everything.
So Boris turned and went.
And then it was just him, and Martha, and the Grinder.
Well, this is it.
Yes, Max. Try to think of it as a portal to another World…
He curled his fingers round the metal bar and climbed over so he was hanging from the other side. Below them, the Kobolds set the Grinder in motion.
Now all you have to do is let go. Easy!
SLAM
SLAM
SLAM
He was ready.
The Luminorium was being repaired, the infested Storybooks removed and burnt.
Courtz was in the custody of the Coven, and the Forest Folk had surrendered.
Now a stack of leaves was ready to go into the Grinder.
It was time to go home.
A ride to the World through the Light on a Book.
But still… he had to jump. And there was one thing he needed to be sure of first.
When you said you’d be mine for ever, did you mean it?
Yes… my Knight… yes I did.
Do you promise? I don’t want to go on my own.
I’m here. Don’t be scared!
Will you be there, though?
I think I will. I think it’s whatever you want, Max. However you want the World to be, that’s how it will be. That’s how it must work.
I want it all to begin again… but be better.
Then that’s how it will be.
He opened his eyes.
SLAM
SLAM
SLAM
Don’t start imagining it! You’ll never do it if you start imagining!
But how could he not imagine? What would it be like to go in to those smashing jaws? Would it be painful? Maybe only for a second—but what a second!
You did it before. You can do it again!
Maybe it was an accident before. Maybe I just… fell in somehow.
He felt the eyes of those watching. They would not blame him if he did not jump. They would understand. Maybe they would even be glad.
Max—remember what the Soul Searcher saw?
Yes. I remember. Why?
He said you would do something incredibly brave that would change the World forever. It wasn’t about facing the Dragon. It was about this. It was about going into the Grinder.
Yes. But I can’t. I just can’t!
He looked away from the Grinder. He lifted his head and saw the mural—just as he’d always done as he cleaned the Grinder’s teeth.
And there they were.
High up in the far corner of the painting, a Hot Air Balloon was drifting above the World, floating through the blue. His Forever Parents were in the basket, faces smiling, hands raised in a wave, waving at him!
He reached for them one last time, stretching out his fingertips.
Leant an inch too far.
Lost his balance.
Put out a hand to steady himself.
SNAP
His hand was gone—Martha with it.
He jumped after her.
There was a time, not so long ago, when a mysterious phenomenon swept the world, baffling scientists and defying explanation.
It had nothing to do with gravity or electricity.
It altered no weather patterns, sea levels or average temperatures.
The migration of beasts across the globe did not change, and plants continued to grow, bloom and die in their proper seasons.
Even the biochemical reactions that sustain life went on with unceasing vigour, as they had for millions of years, propelling organisms down myriad paths of development, just as the continents drifted apart, moved by the massive forces generated in the bowels of the earth.
Almost the entirety of creation was ignored by the new phenomenon, which concerned itself with one thing alone.
Us.
The phenomenon took place in every country. It was compared to a plague that knew no boundaries, or a fire that ravaged a forest. But scientists were able to cure the plague, and the secret of putting out fires had been discovered long ago.
They were powerless to stop the Vanishings.
It is strange, then, that no record of the Vanishings exists in history books, or in the minds of the people they once threatened.
Some changes made to the World are far-reaching and comprehensive in their scope.
Some Patents are only minor adjustments, nothing more than tweaks to the workings of the universe.
And others mean building it all again from the ground up.
Worlds remade. Histories expunged. Stories rubbed out and written again.
The Vanishings never happened.
The Vanishings Vanished.
There was also a time, not so long ago, when travel from the World to the Woods w
as free and easy, when all it took to take you was a candle, a tree and a little bit of night.
That time too has gone.
But life goes on in the Woods, just as it does in the World. Perhaps there is yet traffic between them, traffic of a kind; the passage of ideas and impressions, glimpses of ghosts; stories picked up from goodness knows where by writers hunched over desks, pen in hand.
Pen in mouth.
Pen in hand…
And life goes on!
Under hearts, under hands, lives grow and swell in the ancient way. Some lives are whole and move from beginning to end on a straight Path. Others are dealt a blow from which there is no recovery. They can only stagger about in the trees, becoming Wild. Seeing what only the Wild can see. Hearing what only the Wild can hear.
And so it was, and is, for us all.
Even Max.
Every year at Christmas, Forbes tells the story of how he was found in the back of a rubbish lorry, and if he hadn’t been there, if Forbes hadn’t been there on the early shift to hear the baby’s crying and snatch him from the crushing jaws—who knows what would have happened! A baby thrown in a bin! Who’d have thought of it? Such a precious thing to throw away!
And there is nothing more precious, Forbes would say, raising his glass.
And Alice would smile, her eyes shining, and this Forbes, this big, blustering Hero of Life, who had hooked the last of his dreams from the Grinder—he would rock with laughter, and cut the turkey, and pass the plates.
And the boy went on, half in this world, half in another—making friends, curious to meet people, staring at every face in the street, as if looking for someone in particular, not finding them but enjoying the search all the same. The world he lived in was without that person, but a world with that person was waiting somewhere—if he could only find it, that other world, how good it would be! He had to wait—oh, he had to wait!—for that other world to begin.
But it never did.
And he began to wonder if it ever would.
Then one day, a day when he was older, when he was a student of Who Knows What with a head full of Goodness Knows and a pocketful of Nothing At All, when he was hurrying to Peshkov’s Bookshop before it closed, he glanced up at the clock of King’s Cross, and receiving a speck in the eye for his trouble—a crumb of lichen brought from afar by a mischievous Wind, a reminder sent by distant friends—he moved into a doorway, blinking away the tears.
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