ISOF

by Pete Townsend

  ‘So, where is it you’re taking us exactly?’ in a voice that he hoped didn’t reveal his feeling of desperation.

  ‘Over there,’ replied First-Voice.

  Ben strained to see ahead of him but couldn’t see anything but further swathes of garishly clothed people.

  ‘Where?’ he asked, thinking that if he couldn’t see where they were going, there was little chance First-Voice could either. Without replying, First-Voice simply strode forward with both arms held out in front of him like battering rams. Several bodies fell under the impact until First-Voice finally stopped, placed his hands on his hips and licked his lips.

  ‘Here,’ he nodded.

  Immediately in front of them appeared a vibrant canvas of brightly patterned fields. Moving closer to the riot of colour, Ben saw that the whole thing was a canvas town with gaudy tents, stalls and small booths accommodating a variety of entertainers, traders and pedlars. The more he looked around he couldn’t help thinking that he was looking at one gigantic fairground. Everything imaginable was here, a sensory maelstrom that assaulted your consciousness and refused to leave. Some stalls sold pills and potions for removing unsightly hair, warts, and bushy eyebrows. Others sold trinkets, ornamental seaweed, ear trumpets or kites. Several booths had signs that promised the enquirer an insight into their future, providing you paid the appropriate fee otherwise your future was made known immediately as you were shown promptly to the exit and returned to the crowd. Merchants waved pieces of paper making extravagant claims about the products they sold. Shouts and exclamations filled the air, competing for volume and trade.

  Rising high above the stalls was a large pyramid-like structure, which disgorged a deep booming sound that Ben thought was just like someone battering his head inside a bucket. Surrounding the structure swarmed another huge crowd as bobbing heads paid homage to the pyramid of sound. At the centre of the structure, raised upon a wooden deck, a group of bizarrely clothed individuals jumped around, whirling large, domed drumsticks that regularly beat a rhythm on a series of metal bins. Several of the crowd tried to climb up to the deck but were forcefully held back by a series of bulbous beings that appeared as giant balls of fur with protuberances that could be mistaken for arms and legs.

  Noj looked at Ben and shrugged.

  ‘Whatever ripples your stream,’ he grinned nodding at the mass of people gyrating to the steel pulse.

  Ben raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It reminds me of…’

  ‘Don’t,’ interrupted Noj, ‘even think it. We’ve got enough on our plate without any crass comments about things you can’t know anything about.’

  ‘But I’ve seen stuff like this before,’ said Ben angrily. ‘How can you say that…’

  Noj put a finger against Ben’s lips. ‘Please,’ he asked. ‘Let’s just try and get ourselves out of this mess.’

  Ben nodded in agreement as he continued to stare at the motley collection of people and sounds.

  First-Voice, suddenly noticing that the group had come to a standstill, angrily motioned them to follow him along a kind of alleyway that separated the stalls. Almost immediately, Ben’s feet acquired an awkward reluctance to travel further. Alarmed at his inability to move, he fought to lift each foot in turn. As he did so, his efforts were rewarded with a sickly sounding ‘thlup, thlup.’

  ‘Mud,’ grumbled Trep, as he attempted to extract a foot from the cloying ground.

  Ben looked down to see his feet engulfed in a trough of glutinous mud. He wondered how some of the other people seemed to be moving quite freely through the quagmire until he saw that the majority of individuals wore what could only be described as a large wooden paddle on each foot. Ben peered down at the Cutter’s feet and noticed that they seemed to have miraculously acquired similar wooden paddles.

  First-Voice, aware that his four recent acquisitions weren’t where they should be, looked around. Without a word, he pointed at two Cutters and then at the four mud-bound captives. Striding through the quagmire with their paddles, the two Cutters took hold of Ben, Noj, Trep and Mak, lifted them clear of the mud and, unceremoniously, carried them on their hips, much like a mother might do with a toddler.

  The four wriggled and shouted at their ungainly predicament, but no one took any notice of the small procession and merely moved to aside to let the Cutters through.

  After a few minutes, the two Cutters simply dropped their charges onto a reed mat that had been placed at the entrance of a large tent. The tent, which could easily have been mistaken for part of a circus entourage, was brightly decorated with orange and blue squares with faded bunting hanging from each of the ropes that secured the tent to the ground.

  As the daylight slipped from the sky, an evening chill blew erratically causing the tent to gently inflate and deflate, making it appear as if it were actually breathing. From his recumbent position on the ground, Ben stared at the pulsating tent for a few moments in disbelief. He felt the cooling breeze against his face and watched the tent fidget. Sighing quietly, he tried to convince himself that the tent’s movements were a quirk of nature and not caused by some mysterious force slumbering inside.

  Noj was the first to stand up and smooth his clothes into less harsh creases. He twitched his eyebrows to suggest that the other three should do the same. After some overly enthusiastic patting of clothes, all four captives stood patiently at the entrance to the billowing tent.

  First-Voice appeared to be in some sort of agitated discussion with the other Cutters. Several times hands pointed at the gaudy tent accompanied by harshly muttered words. Eventually, and reluctantly, First-Voice approached the tent’s opening.

  ‘Don’t stand there like a lump of useless granite,’ boomed a voice. ‘Get yourself in here and tell me that you’ve done exactly as I asked.’

  First-Voice looked menacingly at the other Cutters and then disappeared into the darkness of the tent. Throaty rumblings seeped out of the tent as the four captives nervously shifted their weight from one foot to the other. The walls of the tent suddenly sailed outwards.

  ‘Well get them in here you blubber-head,’ boomed the voice again.

  Within seconds, Noj and the others had been roughly pushed into the gloomy interior of the tent. Slightly disorientated the four captives stood together, comforted by their closeness to each other. Gradually the dimness faded as objects and shapes began to lose their blurred edges.

  ‘Welcome,’ said the voice.

  Turning to the source of the word, the four had difficulty in containing their combined fear. Seated in front of them, on a raised platform of pillows, sat a huge, bulbous form. At first it was almost impossible to distinguish where the creature’s head was located. Where it was commonplace to see a head, there stood a large pair of shoulders from which hung knobbly lengths of what appeared to be tree branches without their bark. Beneath the shoulders sat a misshapen ball of patchwork leather with gaping seams spewing an assortment of torn cloth, straw and bits of cardboard. Protruding from under the ball was a pair of hobnail boots whose soles had long since parted company with the main part of the boot.

  As their eyes became more accustomed to lack of light, the four could just about make out clumps of hair sticking out from various parts of the creature. Noj, coughing to clear his throat, nodded to the creature.

  ‘We’d appreciate an explanation for being brought here against our will,’ began Noj. ‘And we would also like to know…’ His question was left unfinished as words tumbled silently out of an open mouth. He stared in amazement as a pair of bright blue eyes suddenly opened in the middle of the creature’s form. Two clumps of hair, haphazardly arranged above the eyes, twitched slightly as a dusky red tongue slipped from a slit that opened directly under the eyes. The tongue flicked from side to side momentarily, as if tasting the air and then disappeared from view. Ben, unable to contain his shock, raised his hand and pointed at the creature.

  ‘What is that?’ he breathed.

  The creature’s eyes closed
as its whole body began to quiver. Noj placed a restraining arm across Ben’s chest to prevent his curiosity causing further reaction. The creature continued to quiver and quake as an eerie series of grunts began to reverberate around the tent. With his arm still across Ben’s chest, Noj beckoned Mak and Trep to move behind him. Two of the Cutters, who happened to be standing close to the four captives started to edge towards the exit. Still the eerie grunts rumbled around the tent. Noj began to shuffle the group away from the creature and into the shadow of the tent wall. The grunting suddenly stopped and two bright blues eyes once again looked at the captives.

  ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ wheezed the voice. ‘I haven’t been so amused for a long time.’ The creature grunted a few more times.

  ‘You two!’ snapped the creature harshly. ‘Get back in here and sit yourselves down.’ The voice paused and its eyelids slipped towards the floor, leaving a narrow slit for the striking blue eyes to peer at the Cutters. ‘That is if you know what’s good for you,’ said the creature in a quiet, threatening manner. The two Cutters didn’t hesitate and immediately placed their ample backsides onto a bench that ran alongside a roughly hewn table.

  The table was cluttered with the detritus of an earlier meal. Plates with remnants of food lay lazily against empty jugs. The two Cutters surreptitiously examined the remains on the plates and coaxed the potentially edible bits towards their mouths. Suddenly, the voice barked a question, causing the Cutters to quickly swallow the few crumbs that had managed to locate their mouths.

  ‘Have these lads been fed and watered?’ asked the creature.

  ‘No, Sir ’ replied one of the Cutters mid-way through swallowing. A cough wracked his body as his mate quickly searched again for any liquid in the jugs. Finding nothing worth calling a liquid, the second Cutter resorted to slapping his friend smartly on the back, which only caused the puce-faced Cutter to cough even more.

  During the coughing escapade, the creature had picked up a jug that had stood by his side. Lifting the large vessel to its lips, the creature swore irritably and slammed the vessel onto the floor.

  ‘Emergency!’ cried the creature. ‘Empty tankard about to shatter an unsuspecting head.’

  Just as the last words escaped his mouth, a short, wizened old man seemed to appear from nowhere, carrying a jug, almost as big as he was, he ran to fill the creature’s tankard to overflowing.

  ‘Careful as she goes Slackjaw,’ snarled the creature. ‘You mustn’t go wasting a drop of the amber rambler now.’

  The old man obediently slackened his pace and immediately found himself face down in the mud as the leg of a Cutter stretched out to arrest the old man’s progress. The large jug landed upright just in front of the old man. His hands scrabbled after the jug, desperately trying to stop it from emptying its contents onto the floor.

  ‘Up you come Slackjaw,’ said the Cutter grinning. ‘Careful as you go, there’s a nice drop of stuff in that jug. Don’t go wastin’ it now.’

  The old man hurriedly got to his feet holding the jug firmly against his chest. The Cutter aimed a swift kick at the old man who raced forward, fearful of being propelled to the ground for a second time.

  The other Cutter began to snigger and then collapsed in a coughing fit. With the two Cutters preoccupied, Noj stepped forward.

  ‘Something the matter boy?’ asked the creature.

  Noj stood as tall as his bones would let him. He swallowed to clear his throat.

  ‘What do you want from us?’ he asked.

  The creature blinked a couple of times and then its eyes suddenly shot forward, propelled by a wrinkled neck that began somewhere in the middle of the creature’s body. Noj gulped but bravely stood still as the eyes bobbed up and down on the elongated neck.

  ‘Now,’ mused the creature. ‘What do I want from you?’ The neck retracted slightly as the eyes gazed thoughtfully at Noj. ‘Well, Noj,’ began the creature. ‘That is an interesting question.’

  Noj leaned towards the creature.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ he asked, oblivious to the creature’s staring eyes. ‘Wouldn’t it be polite for you to inform us of your name?’

  The creature grunted in amusement.

  ‘Good point,’ it replied. A craggy finger scratched a clump of hair near the creature’s mouth. ‘Some,’ continued the creature. ‘Some call me Gaffa, while others call me Arodiron. And some call me by other names with is rather imprudent and decidedly bad for their health.’ The creature, amused by its own joke, grunted again.

  ‘Arodiron,’ said Noj, as the creature’s body shook with mirth. The neck suddenly shot forward again and Arodiron’s eyes examined Noj’s face.

  ‘Yes?’ answered Arodiron cordially.

  Noj took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. ‘Why exactly are we here? He asked.

  Arodiron’s eyes sparkled and rocked from side-to-side. Noj watched Arodiron’s movements until he felt himself begin to feel queasy. He closed his eyes and sighed. Arodiron steadied his eyes and looked at Noj.

  ‘Quite simply, it’s been requested that I detain you for a short time,’ he answered.

  Noj opened his eyes and looked hard at Arodiron.

  ‘Requested?’ he queried. ‘By whom?’

  ‘Oooh!’ mocked Arodiron. ‘Aren’t we the grammatically correct one?’ His neck moved upwards forcing the mass of hair and large eyes to peer down at Noj. ‘Requested,’ continued Arodiron, ‘by persons unknown, to encourage you to delay your journey for a little while, for reasons unknown but,’ he paused, with his head tilting slightly. ‘Ours is to do as bid and no questions asked.’

  ‘Delay us?’ said Noj, his face contorted with puzzlement.

  ‘Yes, delay,’ replied Arodiron crisply. ‘I know of no reason for your existence let alone why I should delay you. But,’ he said in a resigned sort of way. ‘Delay you is what I must do and delay you I shall.’ His eyes observed Noj for a moment and then the neck retracted causing the eyes to rest firmly in the middle of his form. ‘Now,’ mumbled Arodiron. ‘I’m tired and need to sleep. I suggest you refresh yourselves whilst you can and then allow my Cutters to escort you to your accommodation.’ And, without waiting for a response, Arodiron allowed his eyes to close and promptly subsided into a low-pitched snore.

  Mak pulled his hands out of his pockets and began picking at his fingernails.

  ‘Brilliant!’ he moaned. ‘Held captive by something obnoxious on cushions and stuck in the middle of a sea of gyrating lemmings.’

  ‘Steady on,’ said one of the Cutters sternly. ‘This is a respectable gathering, ain’t that right?’ he asked his mate who was still having trouble clearing his throat. He nodded.

  ‘Yeah,’ he rasped. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘See,’ said the first Cutter smugly. ‘The Festival of Heights is an annual celebration of the Arts.’ He winked theatrically. ‘And a chance to eye up some talent.’

  Mak raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I didn’t see where the animal enclosure was, did you?’ he enquired of his fellow captives.

  ‘Why you cheeky guttersnipe,’ growled the first Cutter. He lifted his hand to smack Mak across the face when a gnarled finger suddenly jabbed him in the ribs.

  ‘Temper, temper,’ chided Arodiron. ‘No profit in damaged goods.’ The finger returned to rest on his stomach. ‘Now, sleep is what I’m after and,’ he said, his voice beginning to become harsh. ‘What you’re after is some food for our guest.’ Arodiron’s eyes stared angrily at the two Cutters. ‘At once!’ he snapped.

  The two Cutters scurried out of the tent, with one holding his ribs where Arodiron’s intervention had saved Mak’s face.

  ‘I thought you were asleep,’ said Ben looking closely at Arodiron’s half-closed eyes.

  ‘Mmm, sleep,’ mumbled Arodiron. One eye turned directly to look at Ben. ‘I power-nap you know.’ The eye winked. ‘Time I got a little bit of beauty sleep. See you later.’ The eyelids flickered and then fell firmly shut as the rumbling sn
ore began once again.

  Moments later, Slackjaw stood in the doorway.

  ‘Anyone fancy a Shunty?’ he enquired waving a crescent of pastry in the air.

  Ben’s stomach lurched forward at the pastry smell wafting through the air. He trotted over to the old man.

  ‘Yes please.’ And before the old man could blink, Ben had grabbed the Shunty and was busily gnawing away at the pastry. The others quickly forgot their predicament and joined Ben in putting their teeth around a pile of Shunties from a plate that the old man placed on the table. The old man’s wizened features grew more crevices as his mouth curved upwards in a gummy smile.

  ‘Oi be thinking you like ‘em then boys?’

  Four heads munched in unison.

  ‘That be a grand sight to see, healthy ‘arts and eager tums.’ He chuckled revealing pink gums uncluttered with teeth.

  ‘Alpak! Fetch these young uns zum juice.’

  A flap opened at the side of the tent as a young girl brought a tray of drinks through to the four occupied mouths. Her features were similar to those of the old man except the crevices were something she would encounter many years ahead. Her striking blue eyes were framed by flowing blonde hair through which peeped two slightly pointed ears. Ben, sucking the remains of the shunty from between his teeth, reached for a tankard and took a large gulp of the liquid.

  ‘Phraagh!’ he spat, the liquid dribbling from his chin. ‘What do you call that?’

  Noj licked his lips and grinned.

  ‘Ben, I think you’ve just had your first encounter with Pugwort juice.

  Chapter 19

  Laughter filled the tent as Ben desperately mopped his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak.

  ‘You actually drink this stuff?’ he mumbled through a mouthful of cloth as his three companions tried desperately to stifle their consuming laughter.

  ‘It’s an acquired taste, certainly’ said the girl, a smile playing along her lips.

  ‘I’d prefer a can of Coke,’ replied Ben, scratching his tongue against his teeth while trying to ignore the choked laughter.