The Hundred: Fall of the Wents

by Prescott, Jennifer

  Tully was there more quickly, however, and could hear Deressema’s voice through the breathing holes. “Beware!” she said. “He will kill me if you say I am not one of you!”

  “Sit down! Sit down!” said Pomplemys. “She is not harmed. Although she would harm any one of you with a breath, even the sweet and precious Elutia.”

  At this Pomplemys smiled in a knowing and sickly fashion at Tully, and the Eft wondered if this elder Eft was true or false, and what he could believe. His comment about Elutia had hit close to home. Could Pomplemys guess that he cared for the young Went? It was too late to question their presence here. But, by now, there was true menace in the air. He was glad that Aarvord was more alert than he had guessed. He sat down again, as instructed, but kept his eye on Deressema.

  “She is working on behalf of our enemy, the Hundred,” said Pomplemys, rising and caning his way over to Deressema’s prison on the mantel. “She thought that she could make a friend here, one who would turn against you.” He tapped at Deressema’s glass with his cane and she winced from the reverberations.

  So the Hundred was a common enemy? Tully wanted to pull the glasses on again to test this statement, but he feared that Pomplemys would snatch them from him. Anything that Hindrance had given him was too valuable to risk.

  “I would have thought it wise to crush her,” continued Pomplemys. “But I need her. There is a small task I would have her perform. If she does it well, she wins her freedom. If she does not come back, no concern to us, eh?”

  “Come back?” said Aarvord. “From where?”

  Pomplemys shuffled over to one of the many glass cabinets that lined the room.

  “For a time now I have been a collector of fine objects from Earth’s illustrious past,” he said. “I have lived far longer than any of you might guess, and my Wents have also been given the gift of a long life. For none can touch us here in this sanctuary.”

  Pomplemys removed a small wooden box from one of the cabinets, and held it out on the palm of his hand.

  “I found this washed up on the rocks many years ago, by the river. I have been unable to plumb its secrets. As you can see, the clasp is bent and damaged. I have tried to close the lid but without success. It may be thousands of years old. Perhaps millions. An ordinary box would have decayed and gone to dust. But this box is imbued with magic. Can you feel it?”

  Tully reached out a trembling hand to touch the box, for it was the box. His box. The one in which Copernicus and Nizz had gone into, only days past, into a mystery that only the very small could explore. His friend, Copernicus, lost forever, was somehow inside this box. The box had fallen into another world and another time, and had stayed there, until this Pomplemys had found it. This was why they were here. This was the way to bring his friend back to them.

  Tully found that his breath was short.

  “Do you need your glasses to see it?” asked Pomplemys cunningly. “The workings are very fine. Look, if you peer into the box, there is a small world within. It is always alive. Day turns into night, and night into day. The tiny river inside, so like a line of fine ink, follows the course of our own River Hollis, which lies to the east. In the daylight hours, the sun shines often inside the box, much like it does above the home of Pomplemys.”

  “I see that,” said Tully, not daring to reveal that the box was special to him. “The sun is growing dim inside the box.” He placed his hand on the wood, which was chipped and damaged from the fall to the river. It was his box. It sang to him with a promise that his friend might come back. And Nizz as well, for Nizz had proved himself a brave and good friend to the group.

  Tully peered inside the box and thought: “Yes, the glasses. They might reveal what is hidden here.” He would have to risk the possibility of Pomplemys snatching them from him. But the old Eft was drunk on his brown syrup and likely could not move with any alacrity. The power of the food that had rendered Tully so sleepy seemed diminished with the revelation of the box. Tully felt awake and alert again.

  Aarvord was also staring at the box. He had edged over on his fur-covered chair to see it better. He glanced at Tully with a hopeful expression.

  “I have studied this box,” said Pomplemys with importance. “It has a small hole here, on the side.” He tapped at the hole that Nizz had once entered. “I believe that a very small creature can unlock the box. And lo! A very small creature has come to us. Luck? Magic? She may not fit through the hole, but she can fly into the very heart of this hidden world through the open top. And she can bring us back a report.”

  Tully spoke very carefully. “She may fly in, sir, but can she fly out? For if the box is broken, maybe its magic is broken too.”

  “True,” said Pomplemys. “You are a thinker, eh? A reader of books!”

  Aarvord spoke, though only Tully could sense the emotion in his voice. “Perhaps I could fix the clasp,” said the Grout. “I have tools.”

  “Ah yes!” said Pomplemys, delighted. “You must try! But first, shall we send the Ell in, just for an experiment?” Before they could even protest, he had risen and grasped the jar containing Deressema, who flailed about inside as if to find a last-minute escape. Pomplemys unscrewed the lid and plucked her out, taking care not to touch her paper-thin wings.

  “I have a wish to see if my theories are correct,” said Pomplemys. “The loss of this traitor won’t matter to any of us, eh?”

  Tully and Aarvord looked on while Deressema beat her wings as quickly as she could. Still, she could not escape the grip of Pomplemys.

  “Wait!” said Aarvord. “How do you know what she may do once she gets wherever this world is?”

  Pomplemys ignored him entirely. As he proceeded to lower Deressema down to the box, Tully drew on his glasses once again. Now he could see, with fine clarity, that Deressema was not afraid at all. She was pretending. She beat her wings with a maddening speed, but her face was serene. She was even smiling with a cruel little glint to her expression. Tully leapt up to stop what was happening, but it was too late. Deressema dropped into the box and vanished entirely.

  Tully snatched the box from Pomplemys’ hands and stared inside it. With the glasses on, the small world within was magnified. He could see sunlight reflected off the tiny river, and the splash of water over rocks as the current increased around a bend. He stared into the water, deeper and deeper, until he could see fish shimmying over the river bottom, their shadows streaming over the sand and smooth rocks. The fish were large and speckled, with whiskery tendrils hanging from their jaws; they reminded him of the whiskered fish that had walked on land at the Plain of Bellerol. It was dreamy and quiet beneath the river’s surface. Tully looked closer and closer until he was eye to eye with one of the fish. Its eye held no intelligence. It was a dull creature, looking for food only. Where were the Efts? A river like this should have a pod of Efts, playing and swimming against the current, in the time of their life known as the Sea Change. But of course there were no Efts at this time of the world.

  Rough hands grasped Tully and he heard the voice of Pomplemys.

  “Say, there, young one,” he said. “Have you fainted?”

  Tully looked up out of the box, and was back in the warm room with Pomplemys and Aarvord staring at him. Through the glasses, Tully could see that Aarvord was as wary of the older Eft as he was.

  “You must have very bright eyes indeed with the help of those spectacles,” said Pomplemys sharply. “Could you see anything of interest to us? Could you see that the Ell had made it through safely? As you can tell,” and here he leaned very close and whispered in a sinister way into Tully’s ear, “As you can tell, it is a magic box. Things of great magic like this interest me.”

  Tully snatched the glasses off again and secured them inside his vest, for he could see that Pomplemys was again gazing at them with avarice. He should not have been swept inside the vision of the river. He should have been looking for Copernicus and Nizz. But for now, the box was jammed open. The last time he had closed it, Ni
zz had returned to the present world. If Aarvord could indeed fix it so that the hinged lid would close tightly, then maybe they could get their friends back.

  “I couldn’t see her,” said Tully. “I couldn’t see much of anything.”

  “Why did you send her in there?” asked Aarvord gruffly. “What could you possibly hope to achieve? You’ve probably killed her!”

  “So what if I have?” said Pomplemys, taking a gulp of his drink. “Was she of any consequence to you? No, she was your enemy. I simply wanted to see if the box worked as I thought it might. And it does. A delightful discovery!”

  Tully reached out quickly to touch the box once more—it was his, after all, and he wanted to claim it. But Pomplemys yanked the treasure away abruptly, and, as Tully leaned forward, the little sphere of metal in its sack around his neck came free, swung forward, and struck the edge of the box. It gave off no noise. But the collision sent a curious vibration up through the cord that held the sphere, through the delicate bones of his neck into the very top of his skull, where it set his antennae burning and humming like fire. His scales grew warm as if he had the fever again. He reached out to tuck the sphere inside his clothes, and as his hand closed over it he saw a vision tumbling before him without sense or sound.

  Chapter Seventeen: Capture of Hindrance

  Hindrance was in the darkness.

  She and her comrades had been forced to endure many indignities since they had been stolen. On the day that it had happened, they received an alert to gather at the Mayhew Crossing to the effect that it was imperative that they join this gathering for the future safety of all the Wents. The message had been borne by Ells, traveling speedily throughout the city, and not a single Went had thought to refuse it. This alert system had been devised during the Small War to carry intelligence and instructions among the Trilings. Ells were the ideal espionage units due to their small size and quick flying abilities. This time, the message was for the Wents alone. It was not in their nature to deny the call.

  The capture had been quick. The Wents had gathered at the center of the city, near the ocean port where many ships came to deliver goods. It was a chaotic scene, with the Wents milling and calling out to one another in sweet, high voices. Other creatures were there as well, but the crush of Wents was so thick that it was hard for any but Ells to enter the throng. These flew closely above the heads of the Wents, passing messages back and forth, just as they would have had they been passing the pollen that bred the Trilings. But all the rumors and chatter made the confusion more apparent.

  Some said that a new war was about to begin, that the Trilings and Dualings were now massing, and that the Wents must be ready to stand and fight. Others said that a great wave was to wash ashore, and the Wents had been sent on a fool’s errand and would be washed out to sea. Still others suggested that an unknown, dark force was preying on the city, and all creatures, both Triling and Dualing, would be called to this place to defend it in massive numbers. There were no leaders in the group, as Wents praised their equality above all. This was to be their downfall. Wents were strong and wise creatures, but it took them time to communicate in great numbers and come to a consensus.

  Hindrance was in the very center of the throng, but she had lost Kellen, Bly, and Sarami in the crush. She searched for them among the milling white and flowered faces with no success, growing more disconcerted and confused. Before setting out, they had been four strong and united Wents. Now they were merely part of the crowd.

  The Shrikes, when they struck, came under cover of an unnatural darkness that swept around the ring of Wents massed at the Crossing. One moment, there was sunlight and, the next, a ring of shadow that blotted out all extraneous witnesses and passers-by. It began as a ring, then grew to a dome above them. They were all cast into darkness.

  The shadow gave off a curious buzzing noise and Hindrance and her fellow Wents began to panic and move about. The crowd was so tight that there was nowhere to go. The Wents all began to make the high-pitched keening noise that was their distress signal. It was too late, though; they now understood that they had been duped. Many of the Ells who had alerted the Wents were also swept up in the capture. They flew toward the dark shadow that surrounded them but were repelled by electric stings, which threw many of them to the ground. The frightened Wents, no longer linked to the sun that gave them life and hope, crushed and trampled some of the poor Ells as they were driven forward.

  Under cover of the shadow, they were herded by whips and staves through the old pagoda in the center of the crossing. It covered a well that had been dry for years and the stone cover of the well had been tossed aside. One by one the Wents were pressed down into the hole, where they found iron stairs to climb, bolted into the stone sides of the well. They could see water glimmering below and were afraid because they did not swim. When they reached the bottom they found themselves in a long chamber by a quay that reached out into a gloomy pool. Moored to the quay was a squat and grey ship. It hung low in the water, like some hulking and dumb beast. It was studded all over with curious lumps and knobs that added to its ugliness, and midway along its back rose a black buttress with two outstretched wings, like the tail of some prehistoric fish.

  The Wents realized with terror that they were to enter this thing through a great, watertight door that yawed open; there was a gangway leading up to it of slatted metal and their small feet slipped and caught in it as they were driven onward. Some of them wept over the sides of the gangway and their tears mingled with the green water. Hindrance looked desperately for her companions, but everyone around her was a terrified stranger.

  Inside, they were led into a brig, which was also devoid of any light and had very little air to breathe. Hindrance thought of Tully, sick in his bed in their home, and she was ashamed of her stupidity. She ought to have stayed by his side! Now she was a prisoner of the dreadful Shrikes who poked her with their long staves to keep her moving ever-inward into the ship’s hold. The Wents inside were packed so tightly that they could barely breathe and all was noise and confusion. The floor of the ship was strewn with crushed petals, fallen from the faces of some of the younger Wents, and the cloying odor of fear and sweetness filled the brig.

  Some of the Wents began to sing a little dirge, as they feared this was their death. Others took up the song. Wents, upon hearing their sisters sing, found it difficult to keep silent. Hindrance started to speak to those near her, but they were already glassy-eyed and sunk in their terror.

  “Stop! Do not be afraid!” she implored, knowing that their fear needed to be arrested before it bloomed out of control. Some nearby heard her and took hope.

  “We must remain strong. There will be a chance to escape, but not if we lose our heads,” Hindrance told them. “Repeat the message!”

  Those near her repeated it, again and again, until Hindrance could hear the burble of it all along the dark hold: “Repeat the message! Remain strong!”

  Shrikes were in there with them. She could feel their rough, furry bodies push by. They carried things that were hot, and burned, and the Wents leapt back to avoid them and give them passage. The Shrikes spoke in their horrible, shrieking voices:

  “Do not be alarmed. This is for your own protection. There is a disease afoot in the city. This disease would have killed the Wents. We are taking you to a safer place.”

  The Shrikes’ call mingled and bled with the Wents’ own cries of “Do not be afraid!” and made for a terrible cacophony within the hold. “Do not be afraid” was echoed by the Shrikes’ “do not be alarmed” until they sounded like the same voice—each an echo of the other. It was a strange and ugly song.

  Up above, in the light, the witnesses of the kidnapping saw the buzzing, dark shadow bleed away and disappear into the bright, cloudless sky. Where the vast gathering of Wents had been there was now nothing at all. The pagoda sat silently, untouched. The stone cover on the well was where it had always been. Every last Went had vanished without a trace. On the message board n
ext to the pagoda, a dark circle had been emblazoned. A few went up to gaze at it and shied away, fearful of what it might mean.

  In the hold the voices had finally ceased, except for a few Wents who still mumbled either “do not be afraid” or “do not be alarmed.” They had mixed it all up and didn’t know what was the true message.

  The darkness was all-consuming, broken only by the mild light from a few flying Ells who had the power to light a glowing spot on their backs in extreme circumstances. They had developed this adaptation for biological purposes as, in the distant past, they had often needed to pollinate the Wents at night as well as day. Now, it taxed their energy, and very few even had the power. But the faint light gave them all some hope, so the Ells who could muster the effort did not hesitate to use it. There were perhaps twenty Ells trapped in the hold with the Wents and, of them, half used their light to bring courage to their trapped companions. The Ells felt guilty for their part in the capture, but the messages they had received had seemed true—although no one quite knew where the alarm call had really originated among their people. And perhaps they had been true. Perhaps this disease the Shrikes had spoken of was indeed coming to claim the Wents. Without the Wents, the Ells had no purpose and no future, so they were tied together as all Trilings were.

  One of the flying Ells was Deressema, and she, along with a few close companions, was a traitor. She knew full well why the Wents were being stolen, but she had received messages from a greater master. The Hundred needed the Wents and so the Wents were to be delivered to the Hundred. Her role was not to question why, but to deliver them. Yet she flew with her companions, lighting the spot on her back in sympathy whenever she saw a Went in pain or huddled in fear on the floor of the hold.

  Deressema had been recruited many months ago for this operation and, now, she felt a little frisson of pleasure at its smoothness of execution. Why, it was like a magic trick! No one would even know where the Wents had gone until it was too late. It had been so easy. She exulted in her own power. She, a little weak Ell, had learned things that her larger, and supposedly smarter, kinspeople would never know. She had been taught to operate flying craft—away from the city in a dark field, where her masters spoke to her in pleasing and complimentary tones. Ells, like some of those who now had been swept up in the capture, would never amount to much on their own. They were transporters of pollen, nothing else. It was a shallow life. Deressema was meant for bigger things.