by Chris Ward
The sound came from just behind the hill, approaching quickly. Wilhelm climbed up out of the stand of scrubby trees and jogged up the slope.
‘Stop!’
He dived to the side as a huge circular shape rolled right past where he had been standing, crushing flat the grass. He rolled over and sat up as it came to a stop, rocking back and forth, balancing on the slope.
‘Well, I never.’
It looked like a giant wicker ball—a ten-foot-high sphere made of woven-together twigs. It turned as if recognising his voice, and a section popped out of the main ball to swing down and form three woven steps leading inside.
‘Fallenwood, you made it,’ Wilhelm said. He reached into his pocket to touch the little twig he had found, which now pulsed with warmth. Patting the ball on the side, he climbed up the steps into what felt like a giant hamster wheel. A thicker pole hung from one side to the other, supporting a crude wooden seat that swayed. Wilhelm climbed up onto it, and it adjusted for his weight to stay balanced. Twin armrests were his only support as the seat rocked, so he held them firm and then shouted, ‘Onward!’
The ball rolled forward and Wilhelm marveled at the way the central pole revolved with the motion, allowing the seat to stay balanced. It was a wonder of mechanics that deserved to win a design award.
‘Fallenwood, you’re a genius.’ He patted one of the armrests, then poked the little twig into a gap on the other, as though it were a lucky mascot. The woven mesh ball gave a sudden crispy crackle, as if in acknowledgement.
‘To the Bay of Paper Dragons!’ Wilhelm shouted, and the sphere picked up speed, bumping over the uneven ground like a giant ball of twine with a mind of its own. The faster it spun, the easier he could see through the mesh, and the world outside soon revealed itself behind a flickering sepia like an old movie reel.
The ball didn’t appear to be too sure of the best route, however, occasionally barreling down a hill so fast, Wilhelm was sure it would break apart, before coming to a halt at some obstacle like a stream or an outcrop, then turning back and creaking its way slowly back up the hill. As the hours passed, though, and after the feeling in his back and thighs had long been battered out by the relentless buffeting of the hard wooden seat, they inched farther and farther north, creeping ever closer to the Bay of Paper Dragons and the danger that hung over Miranda and Benjamin like a big dark cloud.
‘You can see here’—Jim Green pointed at the ground—‘where the rock appears a little lighter in colour than the rest of the cliff. You can also notice that slant, as though it’s not natural?’ He began to laugh. ‘As if anything here is, of course. But look, this is where Jeremiah Flowers blasted the cliff to close up the entrance to the bay. There’s still a small span, of course, to allow water in and out, but its mostly filled with rocks to make it impossible for any dragons larger than a couple of feet long to get through. Even then there used to be a net to stop them from escaping, but after the net was damaged in a storm, Jeremiah had no means to replace it, so he established the breeding pool. Since then, the curators of the Bay of Paper Dragons have routinely captured expectant females and monitored the births.’
‘Wouldn’t there be thousands of dragons, then?’ Cherise asked.
Jim Green flashed a sadistic grin. ‘Oh, they eat each other. They have a pretty good way of maintaining their optimum population. Like all frying species, though, if the conditions were right, they would populate the whole ocean, given the opportunity.’
‘What happened to the ones who got out?’ Snout asked.
‘Destroyed by the strong water currents,’ Jim Green said, then his eyes turned storyteller again. ‘Although there are rumours … and there have been sightings—’
‘Of what? Of what?’ shouted Tommy Cale, jumping up and down.
‘There have long been tales of a great dragon, one many times larger than the rest, that long ago escaped the bay before the others were sealed in, and since that time has been trying to find a way back in to be with its friends.’
‘Do reanimated objects have friends?’ Snout asked. ‘My science book says—’
‘Yes, well, don’t worry about all of that theory stuff,’ Jim Green said. ‘Even in the writings of Jeremiah Flowers, there are mentions of a great dragon, the lord of all of them. In the summer, this headland is a popular place for travelers to come and watch for him.’
‘How do you know it’s a boy?’
Jim Green smiled. ‘Because the stories talk of a great black dragon, colourless, so dark that only the glory of the red sun allowed him to be seen at all. You see, only the female paper dragons have colour. Rather the opposite of life as you might have known it. The males are dark and mostly black or grey, easy to mistake as rocks or seaweed floating in the water. They’re also generally much smaller, and don’t live so long.’
‘Why not?’ Cherise asked.
‘Because the females eat them.’
Miranda snorted. ‘Dragons are awesome.’
‘Doesn’t the water make them fall part?’ Snout asked.
‘As the legend goes,’ Jim Green said, ‘they’ve developed a way to protect themselves. What that way is, no one’s quite sure, but if you come up here at night and look carefully at the water, you might just spot it.’
‘Can we? Can we?’ Tommy Cale shouted at Professor Eaves, who waved away his request with a flap of his hand. ‘Tonight is diary writing in the dining hall,’ he said. ‘The cliffs aren’t safe after dark.’
‘Not when there are dragons about, no,’ Jim Green said. ‘Now, shall we move on a little bit, down into that hollow, and stop for a snack?’
As the group started off again, Miranda hung back. Cuttlefur started to walk after the others, until he realised she wasn’t coming and turned to look at her.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘When are we leaving?’ she asked.
‘I told you, soon.’
‘But you keep saying that. I’m tired of all this waiting around. I just want to leave.’
‘Be patient. In a couple of days. Maybe tomorrow, actually.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Just … wait. Come on, let’s catch up with the others.’
As he started off down the path, Miranda scowled and, unable to help herself, reached inside for her magic. But there was nothing there. As before, she felt cold and empty. What if it never came back?
She started to follow Cuttlefur, then stopped to glance over her shoulder. Back the way they had come, Edgar stood looking out to sea, one hand shading his eyes from the sunlight.
Maybe he could help? Secret lessons with Edgar had revealed her magic to her in the first place. She was ashamed to tell him it had disappeared, but it might be just a simple thing, easily explained. She started to go to him, only for Edgar to step down out of sight, so she hurried to the cliff edge and saw him clambering down a steep path to a strip of beach far below.
Edgar had always been a collector, perhaps much like the famous Jeremiah Flowers had once been. Perhaps he had seen something interesting lying in the flotsam at the top of the shore.
She was just about to shout to him, when a voice behind her called, ‘Miranda! Hurry up!’
Professor Eaves stood, hands on hips, a scowl on his face. With a sigh, she turned and headed back to the group.
Hopefully, she would get a chance to talk to Edgar later. With a bit of luck, her magic might have returned by then, anyway.
She crossed her fingers behind her back and hurried after the others.
31
Dark Happenings
‘Just stop struggling, or I’ll throw you down a well or something. If he finds out you’re not dead, we might both end up that way. Remember, this isn’t personal. Not between me and you.’
Tied to an old leather easy chair with a gag in his mouth, the real Alan Barnacle glowered at Godfrey, then he chomped down on the gag again and said something Godfrey couldn’t understand. The fat innkeeper’s shock at being abducted by an uglier, fat
ter version of himself had given way to outright anger.
‘Look, do you want to eat or not?’
Barnacle gave a single, sharp nod.
‘Right, then stop struggling so I can remove your gag.’
Barnacle relaxed and gave another nod. Godfrey, circling him like a man approaching a bear that may or may not be asleep, went behind the chair and untied the handkerchief.
‘Look,’ Barnacle said, ‘I don’t know who or what you are, but if you let me out of here, we can strike a deal. We can make a profit off of this. Start a circus or something? How many twins do you know that could ever look like us?’
‘I’m not your brother.’
Barnacle guffawed, a shower of spit spraying over his chest. ‘No, you’re not. You’re me. At least you’re close. You’re like my ugly older brother. You vile heathen, who or what are you?’
‘Once I’ve done what I came here to do, I’ll be gone and you’ll be free to go back to what you were doing,’ Godfrey said. ‘Look, hold still.’ He lifted a spoonful of mashed carrot.
‘No sugar!’ Barnacle spat, coughing the mash all over the floor. Godfrey shook a bit off of his shirt and glared at the innkeeper.
‘It’s carrot, you fool!’
‘You expect me to eat that without any kind of seasoning? What do you take me for?’
‘Are you hungry or not?’
‘No.’
‘Fine.’
Godfrey turned and marched to the door.
‘Wait, wait …’ Barnacle said, ‘let’s not be hasty now. I’ll eat it. Bring it back.’
Godfrey glared for a moment, then relented, trying not to cringe at the pig-like noises Alan Barnacle made as he chewed down the spoonfuls of mash.
‘Finished?’
Barnacle nodded. ‘Toilet. I need the toilet.’
‘No!’
‘Come on, you know what it’s like. You’re me, after all. Just prop me forward out of the chair. Lean me on a table or something.’
Godfrey scowled. The Dark Man’s instructions had been to dispose of the innkeeper by whatever means necessary, but Godfrey hadn’t been able to murder in cold blood such a pathetic specimen of a man. Now, he was beginning to regret being so jelly-bellied.
‘Get that table over there,’ Barnacle said. ‘It’s easy. I’ll tell you what to do. You’ll need a bucket, too.’
When it was over, Godfrey scrubbed his hands at the water faucet in the corridor, closed his eyes against the horror he had just witnessed, then locked up the old guest room and went back downstairs, trying not to think about what he had just done. Had he just used his magic, it would have been so simple … but then the Dark Man would have sensed him.
The pupils weren’t back yet. Only Ms. Ito, the crazy-haired geography teacher with the permanent plaster cast on her leg, was still there, though she relaxed in a sun lounge on the second floor, reading some recently deanimated magazines.
Godfrey went into another back room, locked the door, then pulled out a glass bottle from his pocket and, setting it down onto an upturned box, closed his eyes.
The warmth of the reanimation magic was so strong, like a blast of hot air on his face. He’d felt no such power ever before; not from another pupil, nor any of the teachers. The tiny circle of liquid in the bottle was enough to create an entire world, he knew.
Pure, distilled reanimate.
‘Hear me, Master.’
Is it done?
Godfrey nearly fell over. The voice had come from everywhere at once, and he peered up at the dark room’s corners as if expecting a shadowy figure levitating against the ceiling, hooked fingers stretching for him.
Godfrey’s voice shook as he said, ‘Tomorrow.’
When I have the girl, Forrest will come of his own free will. He will not be able to leave her to her destruction.
‘Cuttlefur and I are ready, if the, um … transportation is.’
It will be. Where is Forrest now? He must not be allowed to interfere. It would be convenient if he was out of the way while we deal with the girl. A little addition to his food, perhaps? Something that will keep him sick in bed until it is too late. He has proved himself … powerful.
Godfrey shivered. Benjamin’s power had nearly cost him his life. The kid barely knew how to control it, but he made Godfrey’s own summoning power seem insignificant. If Benjamin learned how to use it, he would be difficult to capture.
‘I’ll find out,’ he said.
The heat from the distilled reanimate cooled, the room warmed, and when Godfrey opened his eyes again, he knew he was alone.
He hid the liquid away and went upstairs to the guest rooms. Soon, the pupils would be back from the excursion. The cleaners were busily preparing dinner in the kitchens. He would have to tread carefully when he asked them to find him something that might turn Benjamin’s stomach enough to sit him out of tomorrow’s trip. He had no idea how much they would communicate to each other or to the guests. The Dark Man had put him in a difficult situation, but if he failed, his own life might be at stake.
Benjamin shared a room with Cuttlefur and Adam. Godfrey leaned in through the door and looked around.
He frowned. Something wasn’t right.
It took him a moment to realise what it was, something that, as a kid himself, he had nearly overlooked.
Cuttlefur and Adam had acted like typical kids—bedclothes in a crumpled mess, bags coughing up all manner of belongings onto the floor. The third bed, though, had been neatly made, the duvet tucked under the pillow.
Like someone was checking out.
Benjamin Forrest.
Where was he?
Disturbed, Godfrey lumbered over to Benjamin’s bed and squatted down, peering underneath for some clue left behind.
‘Barnacle! What on earth are you doing, man?’
As always, it took Godfrey a moment to adjust to the name people were calling him now, and when he realised someone was addressing him, he jerked back, bumping his head against the bottom of Benjamin’s bed, then turned around, his newly created cheeks already reddening.
Professor Eaves stood in the doorway, wearing a frown so deep, it had fused both of his eyebrows together. Godfrey resisted making some quip about cobwebs caught in the professor’s hair. After all, he had gotten his nickname ‘Dusty’ for a reason.
‘Um, you’re back early, Professor. I was just doing a little, um, dusting. In a guesthouse as old as this, even the dirt starts to reanimate. And the cleaning staff, well … they have minds of their own….’
‘Quite. Have you seen Master Forrest?’
‘Um, who?’
‘The boy whose bed you’re cleaning beneath. He left the hiking party in a bit of a sulk.’
‘Well, his bed was made.’
‘And his things?’
‘I haven’t seen anything. Is there a problem, Professor?’
Professor Eaves swore. ‘It looks like the fool might have run off. We’ll have to send a search party. Much as few of us would mind troublesome Master Forrest conveniently wandering off, he’s something of a favorite of the Grand Lord.’
‘Oh, is he now?’
Professor Eaves frowned. ‘You know something, Barnacle? You’re barely the man I remember from last year’s trip. Have you been sick as of late?’
Godfrey shrugged. ‘I guess it must be the sea air,’ he said.
‘Well, if you see Forrest, let me know.’
As Professor Eaves went out, Godfrey breathed a sigh of relief. The professor, it seemed, suspected nothing.
Didn’t clear up the mystery of where Benjamin might have gone, though, and it was imperative Godfrey located him at once. If the Dark Man were to find out Forrest had gone missing right as the jaws of his trap were about to snap tight, he would be most displeased….
32
Search Parties
Benjamin had found nothing in the sheds around the back of the guesthouse that could take him to Source Mountain quickly, so in the end, he turned back to the on
ly form of transport he could wholly trust: his own feet.
The road leading up the cliff headed too far south, so instead, he headed back down to the breeding pond and found, through the trees, where the river entered the small lake.
During his mission with Lawrence, he had seen several small tributaries, and this one had to eventually join with the Great Junk River not far from Source Mountain. There was not much of a path, so he clambered up the rocks over which crisp, clear water gushed—noticeably trash-free—until the bay was far back down the valley behind him.
He had quit on the hiking trip just before lunch, so he still had several hours of daylight, followed by the red sun’s eternal twilight. As long as he wasn’t in thick undergrowth, he would be able to see, though his main concern was slipping on the slick rocks and turning his ankle, or worse.
The river valley continued to rise steeply, and after an hour of climbing, the valley began to flatten out, the trees on either side no longer as tight as curtains hanging over him. Slowly, the vegetation relinquished its hold, and the river itself became no longer a treacherous ascent of slimy rocks and invisible pools, but a wider, flat stream with an easy-to-traverse gravel bed. He had long given up hope of keeping dry boots.
When the hill to his right had flattened out and dropped away, Benjamin approached the confluence with a much larger tributary of the Great Junk River, one that flowed south, to a headland they had passed on the way to the Bay of Paper Dragons. Here, he again found trash, but also an ancient metal grate blocking the head of the smaller tributary, gummed up and rusted. Perhaps a remnant of Jeremiah Flowers’s legacy? Benjamin gave it a pat on the top for luck, then climbed out of the river, onto a thin, partly overgrown path to follow the larger river north.
When he guessed it was about teatime, Benjamin sat down beside the river and took some food out of his bag. Though his legs and back screamed at him to rest, a surge of adrenaline pushed him on. He was close to solving the mystery; he knew it. He had climbed right up out of the valley now, and here, the land was a lot flatter. There was nothing to stop him getting to Source Mountain and finding out, once and for all, if Jeremiah Flowers had been right, that it was a way out of Endinfinium.