“Now there is part of my plan.” Wallace Ryder pointed to a small figure coming from the hills to the west. It was moving at some pace over the sand and was wrapped in a cream colored blanket that wound around the head as well as the body.
Baskie lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. “Who’s that?”
“That is loyalty personified. Your lot from the Ten Kingdoms would probably compare him to the Great Gon’Gon Himself,” the Skip said, as the figure drew closer. “That young man has followed King Romarus ever since he left Deca’Point. Without him, I doubt the king would have made it out of the Watch Kingdom alive. A bladed assassin—the same one who killed your father—pursued King Romarus for two leagues when he first left to find you. That young man somehow hid the king’s tracks and diverted the assassin away. He’s stuck by him through death, forest and desert, on foot I might add. He never once let the king see him, even though he caught up with him a few times, but has continually watched over him.
“One of my eyes told me he saw him try to divert a troop of apes that stalked the king through Hal’s Forest. Another spoke of how he distracted a crowd, hounding the king in a village. He does this with no hunger for gratitude. He only wants to serve his king. And that is what he does.” Ryder was unusually serious as he stared at the approaching figure. He looked on him as somebody might have looked at their hero.
The figure was within fifty footfalls and Baskie could make out a face that looked as if the eyes were too close together. The mouth seemed to be open slightly. “But who is he?”
The Skip clearly knew who the man was, but clapped his hands together as if off on a great adventure and said, “Let’s go ask him, shall we?” They approached the figure, who stopped in his tracks. “Greetings traveler,” the Skip sang out and held up his palms in welcome.
“Gweetings.” The narrow-eyed man bowed.
“And what brings you to this,” the Skip said, pausing to look around, “lovely part of the desert?”
“I am special aide to Womawus of Last Kingdom and you seem to be standing in his twacks,” the strange-sounding man said, puffing out his chest and chin.
“Womawus?” the Skip asked, screwing his face up.
“No, Wo-mawus,” the man tried to correct, stomping his foot.
“Wo-mawus?” The Skip’s eyes darted around. “Womawus…”
Stop fucking around, Baskie thought, as he watched Wallace the Skip playing his usual pathetic games. “You know he’s saying ‘Romarus’, for fuck sake.”
Baskie received a tap around the head and was warned, “Less of the cursing.” Wallace winked. He turned back to the newcomer. “So, Romarus…Who’s he then?”
“King Womawus of Last Kingdom. I am pwotecting him and keeping him safe.”
“Oh King Romarus…Sorry, I know a lot of Romarus’s!” The Skip stepped forward and gave the odd man a brotherly-like embrace and began to speak in a voice that mothers use to speak to their babies: “And yes, you have been protecting him, you loyal little creature you,” and ruffled his shaggy blond hair.
Ho Ho, the man let out a peculiar laugh like he was mimicking what he’d heard others do and felt it was the right time to use it. He looked awkward with his closely spaced eyes darting around everywhere apart from meeting the direct gaze of others.
After introductions, Baskie learned the young man’s name was Brick and the way he spoke meant that he had trouble pronouncing his own name.
The three of them sat in the sand in the shade of the duneback’s humped body. Holding a piece of charcoal, the Skip’s hand darted across a piece of parchment frantically whilst explaining his plan to take down Grietum’s disturbing little set-up. It was the part where King Romarus would get a quicker exit and his friend would gain his freedom (without having to lie with that beast) which was of particular interest to Baskie.
When the Skip had finally finished explaining, Baskie asked, “So can we see the map you’ve been drawing? I think I know my way around in places but looking at it would probably help.”
The Skip stopped scribbling and looked up at him and narrowed his eyes. “What map? This?” He fired a sharp smile, then proudly produced a sketch of a fat feathered bird wearing a hat.
How can somebody be so clever but be so fucking stupid at the same time? “Why have you got a picture of a bird wearing a hat?”
“Perfect!” the Skip exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I needed! Good!” It was as if they were having two different conversations. The Skip crumpled up the piece of parchment and put it into his pocket with a little tap. “Let’s go,” he said, pointing and marching towards Grietum’s Hive.
Brick stood ten footfalls from the front door. Wallace the Skip walked to the left of the entrance and scaled the metal wall. Baskie followed. Even though he was a man with brown eyes, Wallace Ryder climbed to the roof almost as quickly as Baskie.
Brick looked small from on top of the large flat metal roof that Baskie and the Skip stood on. It only jutted out from the rock face around ten footfalls. The rest of Grietum’s Hive was buried deep in the rocky hills. The clunk from the Skip’s shiny boots on the surface was loud, even though he was clearly trying to use soft footing. Baskie saw him reach inside his jacket and take out the crushed piece of parchment and drop it down a hole, five footfalls from the door. He clunked back to stand next to Baskie, then nodded to Brick down on the sand below.
The shaggy-haired boy banged on the large metal doors. The sound rang through the whole structure. Baskie remembered hearing the bangs on the doors as Grietum received her many visitors. The Skip said Owin would know when to ask to see Grietum and tell her he wanted to submit to her. But what if he got the wrong timing? Baskie looked at the Skip standing, staring across the desert to where the duneback was waiting by their camp. Maybe you’re not clever at all. Maybe you’re just a crazy, bird-drawing bastard…
The ground underneath them shuddered as the huge metal doors crawled and creaked open. Brick stood his ground, staring straight ahead. When the doors came to a halt, the narrow-eyed halfwit started speaking his script to whoever stood in the entranceway: “Gweetings, I am special aide to King Womawus of Last Kingdom and I have come to escowt him home when he has finished his duties.”
The Skip tweeted like a bird. Nothing happened. “Come on, Barry, you beautiful beast. Don’t let me down,” he muttered under his breath and gave another bird call.
Barry groaned and sprang into action, charging at the door.
“What’s that?” one of the Grietum’s rats shouted from inside the hive. Baskie saw two figures step out of the doors.
“Wait for it, Bwick,” the Skip said quietly as if the man below could somehow hear his whispers. “Wait for it…” The duneback was drawing close and began kicking up dust around the entrance. Sand covered the two guards and Brick, obscuring them from view.
“Now!” the Skip commanded. They both jumped and landed where Baskie assumed was behind the guards, whom he hoped hadn’t seen them. He turned, blind, and ran where he hoped was inside the hive. His vision cleared as they passed the cloud of sand. They both crouched behind a metal pillar at the side of the entrance tunnel.
“Is that your beast?” the rat shouted.
“Don’t let that fucker get in or we’ll go cold tonight!” another blurted in a panic.
“Woah, woah, woah.” Baskie saw Brick trying to calm the charging beast through the settling dust. Brick slapped the duneback on the rear and it trotted back off away from the doors. Spears were held to Brick’s throat but he either didn’t understand what they were, or he was extremely composed under threat. He stood perfectly still and told Grietum’s rats, “I demand to see Gwietum.”
Baskie didn’t hear the guards’ replies as the Skip had unraveled a brown blanket from underneath his jacket and threw it over them both, muffling the sound from outside. The air warmed quickly. It became hard to breath and all he could see from under the shroud were blurry silhouettes in the desert sun through the arch of
the main entrance. Let’s hope they don’t see the random bulky blanket lying at the side of their entrance tunnel, Baskie mocked their hiding place as he watched the guards turn around with Brick in hand, leading him through the main entrance.
The walls shuddered as the metal doors began to lurch shut. When they had crawled to a close. Baskie slowed his breathing. With the desert winds shut outside, every noise could be heard over the common gentle humming of Grietum’s Hive. Baskie heard a faint whistle from the Skip’s nose, right next to his face. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the Skip staring blankly ahead, clearly still blind, looking through his brown eyes. However, in the dark, blue eyes flourished.
The Skip tapped out a rhythm with his right hand as if he was counting. The guards passed with Brick in tow. There was silence except for the metal taps of their footfalls as they walked through the main entrance tunnel.
Ryder’s hand still tapped. He continued counting under his breath. “Come on,” he muttered. His breath quickened. “Come on! The instructions couldn’t have been simpler!” His voice nearly broke a whisper so Baskie covered the Skip’s mouth. He grabbed Baskie’s wrist and threw it away. “Why hasn’t it started?” Just as the Skip finished asking, the familiar sound erupted: the throne room bustling with excitement. “Good boy,” Wallace Ryder whispered under his breath, but Baskie didn’t know who he was referring to.
Cool air hit Baskie’s face and he gulped in the freshness, as the Skip threw back their cover. The buzzing lights from the walls glared as his eyes adjusted to, what was normally, quite a dim light; but coming from darkness it was as if he was looking at several suns. The tunnel was empty and they sped to the end door leading to an intersection. They paused, crouching at either side of the door with their eyes locked onto each other. A nod from the Skip made them both stand and step out. The door slid open for them. For a heart-pounding moment, it looked as if there was a figure standing in the dark room but it was just a pillar. Three other doors led off in different directions
Shouting and cheers echoed from the throne room through the door to their left. Rubbing his face, the Skip staggered around the room looking at each of the four doors. He doesn’t remember the way, Baskie realized, watching the fool blundering. Footsteps from behind the door to the right made the Skip skip—hopping from foot to foot, pointing at each door.
Baskie grabbed his hand and moved towards the door that was straight ahead…it was their only choice. The metal panel clunked and began to grind open slowly. The footsteps grew near and it was as if the door they were waiting on to open wanted them to get caught. It reluctantly pulled apart and Baskie pushed his arm inside, then squeezed his skinny body through the gap. By the time he was through, it was just wide enough for Wallace. Shit, it’s still opening and still has to close! The footsteps were right behind the adjacent door.
Clunk! It began to open while theirs had only just begun to close and (for the first occasion in a long time) Baskie prayed. Please close quickly, please hurry up. He could feel his rear end clenching and he fought the urge to take off and run—the noise of his footfalls would surely attract attention. You can’t affect the speed of a door’s closing and you can’t do anything else but stand still! He cleared his mind and stood, breathing quietly. The heavy footfalls tapped past the closing door. They were two of Grietum’s daughters and they seemed to take no notice of the door grinding to a close as they made their way to the throne room.
The Skip and Baskie both gave a sigh of relief and began down the long, dimly-lit, empty tunnel—moving as lightly on their feet as possible on the ringing metal floor. As planned, the corridors were empty. Most in Grietum’s Hive had made their way to the throne room to witness (judging by the shouts and cheers) the ending of a hunt.
They paced down numerous corridors, each one of which looked the same. The Skip stepped up to a set of the sliding doors with a confident stride and it slid open. He glided into the dank space. Baskie quickly followed as the door began to slide shut. The only illumination came from a single buzzing light which flickered on the far wall. The sight of the room flicked in and out of existence and the erratic lighting was beginning to make Baskie’s head hurt. The Skip swaggered to a large handle underneath the irritating flickering. His hand grasped the lever and he pulled it down with a loud clunk. Relief filled Baskie’s head as the flickering stopped and the room filled with darkness.
The buzzing hum has stopped. It never stopped the entire time I was here. As his eyes began to adjust to the pitch black, he saw the Skip groping the metal walls, his eyes hopelessly darting around in all directions.
Reaching out a hand, Baskie grasped the blinded Skip’s arm. “This is where you blues come in handy,” Wallace said, winking to empty space.
“Put both hands on my shoulders and I’ll guide you.” Baskie led the Skip back to the door but this time it didn’t slide open as he stepped in front of it. “What the fuck? Why won’t it open like before?” He dug his fingers into the small joint between the panels and tried to pry it open.
“Shit!” the Skip cursed.
“Shit? What do you mean shit? Why won’t they open now? Was this not in your plan?”
Wallace Ryder’s eyes darted around, trying to make eye contact with Baskie in the pitch black. “I thought it just controlled the lights.” He slapped himself on the side of the face.
“You thought what just controlled the lights?”
“That lever,” he said, with a poorly aimed point. “I just cut off her energy source, but I didn’t take into consideration the fact that it also powered the doors.” The Skip spoke in strange words.
“So now you can’t see and we’re trapped? What the fuck are we going to do?” Baskie pushed the Skip in the chest. Why did I trust this fuckwit?
“Calm down! I wanted the lights to go off. Only the people we want to be able to see are able to see now.” He referred to those of blue sight.
“Well, you can’t see, neither will Brick and remember that blue beast has the bluest eyes out of all of us,” Baskie warned. “And her fucking daughters…I’m pretty sure they can break people in half.”
The Skip fumbled and grabbed for Baskie’s shoulders again, and said, “Yes, but all of her daughters are called to the throne room at the ending of a hunt and I instructed Romarus on how to lock the doors so he could trap them there. That part of the plan of course relied on him understanding my instructions and,” he hesitated, “the locking mechanism to be powered…and that…well…yeah.” He trailed off.
Baskie ignored him. He scraped and clawed at the join in the door. There was the slightest of movement when he managed to jam his fingers in the gap. He pried the door apart; a tiny gap eased open. Slam! It closed again. Pain seared in his middle finger. The nail was ripped off. Baskie cursed.
“Did it not open?” the Skip asked, clearly still blind.
“What do you fucking think?” Baskie sucked on his tender fingertip.
Wallace gave a blind, indignant look to mid-air. Baskie grabbed the Skip’s hands and placed the man’s fingers on the seam of the door. He dug his own fingertips in on the other side of the crack. “Pull!” he told the Skip as a shooting pain seared in his raw fingertip and traveled down his arm.
The door budged. Baskie jammed his foot into the gap and shimmied it wider. He squeezed into the opening sideways and used this hands and arse to widen it. “Climb through,” he said to the Skip, stretching out one hand to drag him in the right direction. When Wallace had cleared the doorway, Baskie stepped away. The door slammed closed with bone-shattering speed.
In the pitch-black corridor, different noises echoed from the throne room. Panicked shouts. A crowd in chaos.
“How many more doors until we get to the red flowers?” Baskie asked, trying to stay focused on the task and not to worry about what fate might befall them if they were caught. He looked to the Skip, who stood staring at the floor with his currently useless eyes, thinking. His plan’s cocked up. I shouldn’t have trusted him! �
��Hey,” he shouted to get Wallace’s attention. “How many more doors to the red flowers?”
The Skip shook his head. He fumbled around until he found Baskie’s shoulders and held on. “There should be a door straight ahead.” He pushed Baskie and they started trundling towards the door at the end of the tunnel. “We go through this one, then another straight ahead and it will take us to the tunnel where you said you first saw them.” The Skip shuffled his feet. He stumbled and his grip tightened.
“Why don’t you use your flick…” Baskie paused, forgetting the tool’s proper name.
“Flick activated fire lighter?”
Baskie’s eyes were flooded with the flickering flame from the strange metal stick held by the Skip. “Why didn’t you light it earlier?” Baskie asked.
“I needed to make sure you would be able to see well enough in the dark. It still amazes me how well you blues can see in almost complete darkness…I just didn’t trust it. But well done…you passed. Except for that slight stumble back there. Some verbal cues might help next time…” The Skip rambled on in his manic way.
They worked together to pry open doors and made their way slowly through the tunnels, lit only by the small flame from the Skip’s tool. Baskie found himself in a familiar tunnel and went up to the door he recognized as being the one he’d shit himself at, the first time it sprang to life and opened by itself.
His heart skipped as bangs and scratches came from the door to the far end of the tunnel near the throne room. He saw a pair of hands pulling it ajar from the other side. Baskie and the Skip both dove to the side and crouched as low and as tight as they could get to the wall. The Skip blew out the flame. As Baskie’s eyes began to adjust to the pitch black, he saw two of Grietum’s rats squeeze through the gap and run towards them. They looked straight ahead with their eyes screwed up and hands groping hopelessly at the pitch blackness in front of them. Baskie stuck out a leg and the first rat face planted onto the hard metal floor. The other quickly followed but had a softer landing, his friend ending up as a pillow to break his fall. The first didn’t move and Baskie saw dark fluid pooling around the rat’s head, edging towards him on the floor. The other began to stir and stood up. A short figure, wearing only some cotton trousers, came out of nowhere and tackled the dazed man back to the ground, punching him in the face. It was King Romarus.
A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes) Page 35