by Chris Ward
‘Look, I’ll do you a deal. I’ll do your toilet for you, if you tell me where you keep your, um, laxatives. No, I don’t want them for you. I need to keep a couple of people back at the guesthouse tomorrow while the others go out on the cruise with Jim. One kid in particular, although he’s actually gone missing. I reckon he’ll show up, though. They always do when you wish they wouldn’t.’
‘Third cupboard from the left in the second pantry,’ a gruff voice answered, and Snout froze. It was like Barnacle was talking to himself, only he was answering in his proper voice.
‘They in a packet?’
‘No, powder. Don’t ask me the dose. Stuff’s ancient. Probably comes from Flowers’s time. No doubt ground up out of some herbal junk he came up with. I only know it works because I put it in a soup once, thinking it was cornflower.’
‘Well, I won’t be making that mistake with your breakfast tomorrow.’
‘You’d better not. Now, I’ve told you what you wanted, so it’s your turn to keep your end of the bargain.’
‘All right. Hang on.’
Snout began to slowly back away up the corridor. He needed to speak to the teachers right now. It had taken him a while to figure out where he had heard that first voice before, and now that he remembered, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out sooner. After all, it had once been a constant source of inane comments not far from his ear.
Godfrey.
What was he doing here? And what was he doing impersonating Alan Barnacle?
He was almost back to the staircase, when he tripped over a loose roll in the threadbare carpet and crashed into the wall. As he recovered himself, he heard the door opening back down the corridor, and the air filled with a sudden warmth. He knew it was that magic thing some of the other kids talked about.
He didn’t want to think about that, or who might be using it, so he gritted his teeth and ran up the stairs as quickly as he could.
‘Caspian, I need a word.’
Edgar turned, surprised by Ms. Ito stumping toward him across the car park. Ten pupils had returned so far; twelve more were still down in the forest. Professor Eaves was with one group, with most of the rest on their way back. Only two pupils were unaccounted for: Cuttlefur and Miranda.
Edgar frowned, shaking off his unease. Eaves had set him up on watch because of his sensitivity, the simplicity with which he could feel the gentle glow of the pupils’ magic—even of those who had no idea of its existence yet—but two worried him.
Cuttlefur held some kind of power he hadn’t felt before, though he had no way to investigate it because the boy—whether intentionally or not—had erected a magical wall to prevent his feeling it, reanimating the surrounding air to push away other magic users sensing it. He was trying to make himself invisible, yet had made it glaringly obvious he was hiding something.
Miranda’s problem was different. For nearly a year he had secretly taught her about her magic, and of all of the power in Endinfinium, he could have picked hers out of a crowd. Now, when he felt for her … nothing. Even when she stood in front of him, magically she didn’t exist, and he could see in her eyes she knew something was wrong. He had been waiting patiently for her to approach him about it. He was worried he had missed his chance.
‘We have a problem, Caspian. Where’s Eaves?’
‘Down in the forest. He’s on his way back. What’s happened?’
Ms. Ito, her wild hair like a giant seeded dandelion framing her face in black, white, and grey, glared up at him through eyes much younger than they looked.
‘Kid came to me. What’s his name? Simon? The dimwit? The one they call Snout?’ She rolled her eyes as if frustrated he couldn’t reel off answers as quickly as she asked her questions. ‘Alan Barnacle. He’s an impostor. We have to get the kids out of here right now.’
Edgar stared. This was the worst possible moment for a crisis, with all of the pupils scattered across the forest, searching for Benjamin.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Kid said he heard Barnacle talking to Barnacle. Voice wasn’t Barnacle’s.’ She leaned closer as Edgar shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. ‘Godfrey. Kid who went missing back when we had that trouble? Said Barnacle spoke with his voice.’
Edgar turned to the guesthouse. ‘The returning kids … we told them to assemble in the dining hall. He’ll be there with them.’
‘What’s all this?’ came a voice from out of the gloom. Professor Eaves was striding across the car park.
Ms. Ito repeated for him what she had said, then Eaves turned to Edgar. ‘Let’s see what he has to say for himself. We’ll be safe enough if all three of us are there.’
Edgar wanted to stay to wait for Miranda, but Godfrey was a Summoner, known to have helped the Dark Man in the past, so his presence might have something to do with Benjamin’s disappearance.
Ms. Ito was already stumping away to the dining hall, with Professor Eaves in pursuit. Edgar gave the dark edge of the forest one more pained glance, then turned to follow.
35
Wilhelm’s Surprise
Wilhelm was shaken awake by the great wooden ball coming to an abrupt stop. He wiped at his eyes, then rubbed his chest where a makeshift seat guard made from woven twigs had stopped him from falling out.
‘Where are we?’ he muttered, peering out into the gloom. The afterglow of warmth suggested it was evening but, surrounded by dark forest, it could have equally been early morning. Only the dark orange glow in the sky gave him enough light to see by. They had come to rest on a dirt track that angled downhill, and from somewhere not far away came the gurgle of a stream.
With a crackle, a section of the ball untangled itself as twigs and strands of dry straw weaved into a series of curves and lines. Wilhelm frowned, then as the distinct shape of a ‘W’ appeared, he realised they were writing something.
The spelling was poor, and at first, the interconnected letters were hard to read in the gloom, but when he pulled his computer out of his bag and turned the little screen light on, they began to make sense.
Welcom. We hav arivd.
Wilhelm grinned. ‘Economising, are you?’
The twigs twisted again. Ys.
‘Thanks for the ride. Where’s here?’
Bay of P.D. is jst ahed.
‘Can you wait for me?’
Hde undr trees.
‘Thanks.’ He started to get up, then added, ‘I can’t thank you enough, Fallenwood. You’re a true friend.’
Dn’t forgt promis.
Wilhelm laughed, already wondering how he could talk himself out of cleaning up the old botanical garden building. ‘I won’t.’
With a rustle like burning paper, Fallenwood’s wheel unfolded itself and disappeared into the undergrowth. Wilhelm stood alone on the path, with only the glow of the red sun outlining shadowy things.
Only a few paces in, he saw lights glimmering through the trees, weaving back and forth. He crept a little closer, then climbed off the path into the undergrowth, moving slowly so as not to announce his presence.
He hadn’t gone far when he heard an unmistakable voice:
‘We should go back now. It’s time.’
Cuttlefur. Wilhelm scowled. He wanted to jump out to confront the bigger boy, but someone of his size needed an advantage. He edged a little closer, trying to find out what Cuttlefur was doing.
‘No, just a little longer.’
Miranda’s voice. Wilhelm slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out for her.
‘Look, I told you, he’s long gone. But don’t worry, he can look after himself. He’ll be fine.’
‘He was upset.’
‘He’ll get over it.’
‘Benjamin!’
‘Forget him. If he was your friend, he wouldn’t have run off, would he?’
‘Benjamin!’
Wilhelm flinched. Miranda’s shout was so close, it hurt his ears. He dropped down behind a tree, then felt around for something he c
ould use as a weapon. A rock or a long twig. If he was quick, he could catch Cuttlefur by surprise before he could use his magic.
A sudden icy chill crept across his back. He touched his skin, though it felt normal—same skin, same heat.
Which meant the feeling was in his mind.
Wilhelm closed his eyes. From through the trees came an intense chill. Edgar had shown them how to feel for the magic of each other, but it had always been warm. This was different, and could only mean one thing.
Cuttlefur was channeling dark reanimation magic.
He knows I’m here.
Wilhelm backed away, but tripped as something pushed up out of the ground and closed over his ankle.
‘Come on,’ Cuttlefur said from through the trees. ‘We promised Professor Caspian. We can look again when it’s lighter.’
Miranda sniffed. ‘If we have to.’
Again Wilhelm slapped a hand over his mouth, this time to suppress a gasp of terror as the ground below his feet glowed orange. Ghouls. He scrambled out of range as a half-human, half-machine arm poked up out of the ground, reaching for him. Through the trees, he was dimly aware of Miranda and Cuttlefur leaving.
He wanted to call out to Miranda, but that would only put her in danger, and not for the first time he wished he were more than a lowly Weaver. Allied with others, he could bring forth great power; alone, he was powerless, with just his wits, and his legs.
He turned too sharply and crashed face-first into a crusty tree trunk. Something wiry wrapped around his ankle, but he twisted and kicked out, striking something fat and orange that looked like a microwave with a face and arms. The mouth where a door would once have been snapped at him, though the force of his blow had broken off the ensnaring wire from its casing and it fell away, wriggling like an orange snake.
Then he was on his feet again, dancing through the undergrowth, while a dozen or more orange-tinted monstrosities ran, wriggled, and bounced after him.
Stumbling among the trees, he barely kept ahead of them. The slower ones had dropped back, but one creature, a cross between a crocodile and a coffee table, ran close behind on wooden-peg legs while savage jaws snapped. He glanced back to see how close it was, then turned away, almost smacking into another tree before dodging left at the last moment. Crashing through a stand of brush, he rolled out across a cobblestone road.
Though the ghoul was right behind him, the road angled downhill, and it became a straight sprint. Wilhelm summoned his last strength and bolted, trusting his footing, trusting the road, trusting his luck. The creature gave chase, but its wooden legs slipped and slid over the polished stones, and by the time the road had angled around a corner and leveled out alongside a wide pond, it had given up. Wilhelm scrambled off the road into the undergrowth and lay down to wait, but the creature never appeared, perhaps choosing instead to wander back into the forest. As soon as he was sure it was safe to continue, he climbed back down onto the road and hurried in the direction of a building he could see through the trees.
He recognised the Paper Dragon Bay Guesthouse from a faded sign over the door. The parking area was dark and empty of vehicles, while a grassy area overlooking the bay showed signs of having hosted a bonfire within the last couple of days. Wilhelm paused by the door, closing his eyes and feeling for the heat of reanimation magic. Spots of it were not far off, indicating the other pupils were nearby, though a worrying wall of cold surrounded everything.
He had to be careful. He crept around the back of the guesthouse, looking for an unlocked door, and on his third attempt he found one that led into a pantry. The clanging of pots and pans came from an adjacent room, and when he opened the door a crack, he saw a group of cleaners preparing something in a large silver vat. The smell was intoxicating, and Wilhelm wanted to run inside.
Chocolate.
How long has it been?
Something in the trees outside let out a long, lonely howl, and he snapped back to his mission. Voices came from up ahead. At the end of a corridor stood a set of wide doors, which swung open and admitted a cleaner carrying an empty tray. Wilhelm ducked back out of sight into a connecting corridor until the cleaner had passed. He had found the others, though. All of the pupils were gathered in the room beyond the double doors, lined up on trestle tables.
With his heart in his mouth, Wilhelm sneaked up to the doors to see what was going on.
A huge, ugly man was just climbing up onto a stage at the far end. He coughed, then tapped the old microphone in front of him. The pupils, lined up in rows, paid him little attention, chatting while taking snacks from bowls the cleaners had placed along the tables.
‘Um, order please.’
A gradual hush came over the pupils and, one by one, they turned to look at him.
‘I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news.’ He flapped a hand to order as catcalls and jokes rang out. ‘The bad news is: all three of your teachers have taken sick.’ He sighed. ‘We think they were picking wild vegetables. We did warn them not to touch anything.’
‘How’s that bad news?’ someone shouted.
‘Some of the plants in the surrounding area work as a strong laxative,’ the fat man said, to sniggers of delight. ‘It is believed that Jeremiah Flowers grew them. His notebooks mention feeding them to the dragons in order to relieve the pain of childbirth.’
‘What’s the good news?’
‘The good news is that on tomorrow’s cruise around the Outer Bay, you’ll be accompanied only by Jim Green and myself.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll be able to take you a lot closer to the rocks than if we had … supervision. And who knows?’ he added, spreading his hands. ‘We might even see the fabled great dragon.’
‘Is that all?’
The fat man laughed. ‘No, of course not. To ease your frustration, we have cooked you up something you might not have had in a while. Hot chocolate.’
As the pupils cheered, two cleaners stumbled forward with the vat of hot chocolate held between them, and Wilhelm ducked backwards out of the way as they pushed through the doors to more cheers.
He shivered. Something was wrong. The chill of the dark magic was everywhere now, as if Cuttlefur and whomever he was working with had set up a barrier.
He had hoped to be right. Throughout the bumping journey inside his wooden transport, he had looked forward to telling Miranda she was wrong. He wasn’t a fool; he wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t lying to her, and he could prove it.
Now that he was here, though, such thoughts had been tossed from his mind like sailors from a storm-stricken ship. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, only that people would get hurt unless he did something. But being a Weaver, he was useless on his own.
He had to find Benjamin.
As quietly as a cat, Wilhelm crept back down the corridor and slipped through the kitchens. The door was still open and, with a huge sense of relief, he stepped back out into the perpetual twilight. The encompassing chill of dark reanimation was still apparent, but out here in the open, he felt like he could breathe, like he could run.
Then he glanced up at the forest and his heart sank.
Between the trees glowed orange light, so bright, it was like thousands of flickering candles had caught alight all at once. He took a few steps forward, until shadowy forms began to appear, creatures that walked like men or crawled like snakes, bounced like broken chairs or rolled like old wheels. None moved. Whoever had called forth the army of ghouls hadn’t intended for them to attack; they were to contain, to keep the pupils and the teachers trapped inside the guesthouse.
Staying close to the wall, Wilhelm crept around the front of the building for an escape route. He squatted behind a row of smelly septic tanks, then cautiously peered out. The car park was as empty as before, but out from the bushes on the other side came the same familiar orange glow as from the forest behind the guesthouse. Ghouls were everywhere, waiting back in the undergrowth for further orders.
Wilhelm grimaced. Back in the orphanage, he’d been
pretty good in a sprint, and some of the care staff had even said he’d make a decent rugby player if he filled out in his teens. What they hadn’t known was that outrunning and dodging some of the bigger boys had been the only way to keep sticky boogers from dripping into his ears. They’d caught him once behind the storage sheds, and he’d promised it would never happen again.
‘Catch me if you can,’ he muttered, then he bolted from his hiding place, racing across the car park to the path that led to the pond, then up to where he had left the Fallenwoodsmen. Low moans came from the bushes, and the orange line lurched forward, with dozens of monstrous creatures lumbering in pursuit. Up ahead, others stepped out of the undergrowth to cut him off, but Wilhelm dodged right, then left, then executed a swift roll that made his shoulder ache, and suddenly he was through them, racing on down the path while the host shrieked and wailed in his wake.
He had to lose them quickly. Ghouls were like cars with an endless fuel supply; until they broke down, got lost, or were switched off, they would keep coming. As he reached the pond and raced across the causeway cutting it in two, he glanced back, and immediately wished he hadn’t. At least twenty still followed him, and some ran low to the ground, heads keened forward, rapid feet quickly closing the gap.
As the hill rose up, Wilhelm came to a stop. Downhill, he had an advantage, but the steepening path had sapped his last strength. Here, on this thin, cobblestone causeway, he had to stand and fight.
With tears in his eyes, he pulled an old branch out of the weeds beside the path. It felt brittle and damp, easily broken, but it would have to be enough.
‘Come on!’ he shouted as the host started across the causeway. The nearest was a lumbering thing with wheels and snapping jaws that had once been a cupboard door. It blocked the way forward for the rest, so as it approached, Wilhelm darted forward and jammed the stick into the hard plastic above its jaws, pushing it backwards.