Brink (The Ruin Saga Book 2)

by Harry Manners

  How could I? It’s magic, like Grandpa said. Maybe the storybooks were all true.

  And in the stories, there was only one way to go: forward.

  Follow the yellow brick road.

  Stepping with ginger care over the black soil, shuddering as the ice crystals on her skin melted into a cold glistening sheen, she stepped up to the door, which was coarse and jagged with a garish mauve patina. She reached out once, jerked back in hesitation, then took a deep breath and, holding Daddy’s face in her mind, pushed her way inside.

  The door squealed, and Billy’s heart leapt, thundering into her throat when a rattling impact exploded at her feet. She plastered herself against the wall, gasping.

  A lump of dented metal lay before her, the bell that had hung over the door. Massaging her chest, she stepped into a thick mist of dust, waving her arms before her to part the great chunky motes.

  There were tables and chairs of all kinds, the upholstery rotted and lank on the bare frames. Out back was a counter with a covered display case, empty, but with enough room for a large selection of foodstuffs. Scattered around the edge were tall boxes, each with a tray set upon it dotted with dark, lumpy dust. The entire space was empty and silent, a tomb.

  She approached the closest tray and picked up one of the strange lumps, holding it up to the lesser murk shining in through the door. It was soft, some kind of plant matter, maybe leaves. She frowned.

  Then, from behind her, a rough yet lilting voice, “Tea.”

  She whirled with a gasp and the tray clattered to the floor. The pigeon took flight in a fit of wing beats, and for what seemed an age, all she could do was stare, unseeing, and hold up her hands in defence. “Please, don’t!” she screamed. Then she fell, tripping over the tray’s spilled contents, and went sprawling.

  A beat passed, then the voice came again. It sounded amused. “My apologies. I must work on my entrances.” A pause. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

  Billy scrabbled to her feet and observed a bedraggled man dressed in a flowing purple trench coat, leaning back in one of the chairs with one leg crossed over the other. He sported a rough crop of stubble and his hands and face were dirty, but he looked cleaner than the medicine ladies. His twinkling eyes dominated his face, hooded by truly impressive grey eyebrows, so bushy and pointed they protruded half an inch up toward his hairline.

  His expression was frank and friendly, but strange. Upon his head was perched a dog-eared hat, from which sprouted a long, wilted feather.

  The man smiled. “Would you care to join me?” he said and gestured to a steaming teapot before him, around which were satellites of cups, saucers, sugar and cream, all spick and span, shining white bone china.

  None of it, nor he, had been there a moment ago.

  The wizard, she thought automatically. She sat without complaint, her pulse still yammering in her ears. She took a shuddering breath and tried to look unafraid. But her memory of Sammy and her sidekick, and the feel of their grubby, diseased hands running over her stomach, was still fresh in her mind.

  “You look like you could do with a fresh cuppa,” the man in purple said and clapped his hands together, a strangely androgynous gesture from a man with such a hardened, street-wise visage. He set about the cups and saucers with practised showmanship, setting them in a row and pouring golden liquid from the pot with dainty finesse, his back absurdly straight. He then pushed the cup across at her, and mimed drinking with a wink, his pinkie cocked skyward.

  Billy drank. Liquid velvet trickled past her tongue, the flavour somewhere between tart tannin and sticky citrus delight. The steam wafted into her nose and she was overwhelmed by the scent of lemons—redolent and nectar sweet. Tears came to her eyes before she knew why. By the time she realised it was identical to the perfume Ma had worn, she was weeping in earnest.

  The man in purple watched without concern and took a sip from his own cup, smacking his lips and sighing. Then he put the cup down and rubbed his hands together. “Good! Refreshments are done. Now, to business. I have plenty to do.” He paused as though in afterthought and touched her arm. She didn’t recoil. “Can you be brave a while longer?”

  Billy put down her cup and turned her head away from the steaming vapour. It was too painful to smell; Ma could have been but a foot away. She wiped her tears on her sleeve angrily. “Yes,” she muttered, her voice husky with pain.

  The man smiled, a real, approving smile. “That’a girl. Things get stranger and stranger from here on. But bravery will pull you through anything.”

  Billy blinked the last of the moisture from her eyes and sat back. She had had enough of this freakery. The tea was delicious, like nectar, but it had set a hive of emotions buzzing in her head. Now she wanted to leave as fast as possible. “Who are you?”

  He nodded, again with a note of approval. “No dilly-dallying. I can jive with that. Neither of us belongs here, after all. I bet you feel it, too, don’t you? That little tug down in your belly that tells you you’re not meant to be sitting here?”

  Billy nodded, frowning.

  How could he know that?

  “Because I have certain privileges,” the man said as though she had spoken aloud.

  She gaped.

  He laughed. “My darling, it’s a pleasure.” He took her hand in his scruffy paw and kissed it. The feather in his cap bobbed.

  Billy took her hands under the table and swallowed. “I don’t understand,” she said flatly.

  He arched an eyebrow, took a look around at the crumbled ruins of Laurent’s, and nodded. “A fair statement.” He shivered in disapproval, tutting as he took in the sight of the teashop as though seeing it afresh. “My, the place really has gone to shambles. Terrible management, you see.” He glanced at her. “It usually looks a lot nicer, believe me. And there are more”—he licked his lips—“tasty treats. A shame. Good thing I had the forethought to order the tea.” He grinned, a mischievous glint to his eye, and took another sip of citrus infusion.

  Billy shook her head. “I don’t …”

  “Understand. Yes, I know. Forgive me. I was sent on short notice.” He pushed his cup aside and steepled his fingers, leaning across the table. “Please, bring me up to speed. It’s so hard to keep track of everyone’s minutiae.”

  Everyone?

  Her mouth worked of its own accord. “Daddy’s sick. I was taking care of him, looking for food. Then a … man … appeared. I think he’s a man. He might be a … a wizard, like you. He said I had to find two men who I’ve been seeing in my dreams or Daddy would die. Then I knew where to go. I just knew. I got lost in a forest, two old ladies tried to kill me, and then I found the arch. Now, I’m here. And I have no idea where to go.” Saying it all aloud scared her. It was all silliness of the strangest dream. Suddenly, she felt very tired.

  When she said the word wizard, the man in purple chuckled indulgently, in good humour, the way grownups always did when she said something they thought childish. Yet at the same time, she thought she might have caught a change in his eyes—for the briefest moment, they might have flashed a shade of violet.

  “I apologise on behalf of my colleague. You’re being bounced around quite a bit, aren’t you?” he said in distaste. “But it’s the only way to get you to where you need to be. If there were any way to have you safe and sound right now, it would already be done. But our hands are tied, and things are set in motion.” He shrugged. “We’re improvising.”

  “Who is he?” She didn’t say Panda Man; she suspected it would only make her sound silly, like a baby.

  He held up a finger. “That is a very long story, and one you will hear in due course. But not now. You need to get where you’re going, and find your mystery men. You’ll be safer with them. Then we can start setting things right.”

  She leaned forward. “I was safe with Daddy! Why would you take me away from him so I was in danger, then send so far away to make me safe again?” She shook with anger, rising out of her seat, but his hand on her shoulder forc
ed her back down.

  “You were not safe,” he said slowly. “I promise you that. Things might be okay for now, but soon enough, all manners of people and things will see you. Your light is sparked. Soon, they’ll all come for you.”

  “Light?” She swallowed. “Sammy talked about the light. I thought she was a crazy lady.”

  “She was. But the light is real. Real as mud.” The pigeon flew in through the open door and alighted on the man’s shoulder. “These guys are evidence of that. They’re following you by now, I bet?”

  She didn’t deny it.

  He nodded. “It’ll get worse fast. If we don’t get you to Cain’s lot soon, you’ll be exposed. And if Chadwick gets you …” He shuddered. “The truth is that you’re cleaning up our mess. If things had gone to plan, you and Fol would be busy gathering the others by now. But Fol couldn’t wait. He never waits!” His lip curled. “Things should never have been allowed to go this far. I told him about meddling with this world!” He gaze had grown distant and his expression sour, as though he was speaking more to himself than her. Then his eyes cleared, and he shook his head. “The thing is, this world is patchy. Some places are bright, some dark. Our reach is limited. You probably noticed …” He pointed down at her feet. “You suddenly felt lost, I bet, hmm? Places like Salisbury—where you just came from—they’re dark. My colleague can’t see that place. That’s why you’re dealing with me.”

  Why am I seeing you at all?

  He nodded sagely. “A fine question. Like I said, all I can say is that you’ll get your answers, in time. First, we have to stop Chadwick.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s a problem, that’s who.” He shook his head. “A spiteful shame, he showed such promise. He could have put things to right long before you were born, if things had played out different.” He shrugged. “But that’s not the way the pendulum swung.” He reached into his pocket, rummaged for a moment, then brought out a mildewed scrap of folded paper and pushed it across the table. “Here, this should get you to the next leg of the journey. You’ll see your Panda Man again soon.”

  She took the paper and unfolded it, revealing an ancient-looking map, drawn in what seemed to be charcoal and ochre. The outline of New Land was the same as Grandpa’s maps, but this one was bare save for a few markers that brought her arms out in gooseflesh: a winding path that led from a perfect miniature drawing of the cabin, to dark trees—she guessed the forest where she had become lost—then on to the arch.

  “That’s where I have to go?” she said.

  He nodded. “Just follow the yellow bricks,” he said.

  She smiled despite herself. Then, something about his words percolated into focus. “I never said I called him Panda Man,” she said.

  His eyebrows shot up past his hairline. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. How strange,” he said. Then that mischievous little grin blossomed on his face again, those enormous eyebrows twitching.

  Billy returned to the map. She was in the process of folding it carefully away when, quite suddenly, a young woman wearing a black apron strode into the room and approached the table.

  Billy gave a yelp of surprise. She hadn’t seen a woman who didn’t look mean enough to slice her up since Ma had gone away.

  She watched in fascination, but the woman didn’t pay her any mind, almost as though she didn’t see her at all. She walked right up to the man in purple, and bent over him to murmur in confidence. “Our time is up,” he said. “I have another appointment.”

  “With who?”

  “A lovely young woman who’s quite forgotten her own name.”

  His companion cleared her throat.

  The man in purple nodded. For a moment he seemed much, much older; it was the heavy accepting nod akin to those Grandpa had given when facing grave news. He dismissed her with a flutter of his eyelids, and the woman stepped back towards the counter. She didn’t even glance in Billy’s direction.

  The man climbed to his feet and sighed. “I can’t stay. Busy, busy, always so busy.” He tapped Billy’s pocket, where the map sat. “Take care of that. And when it fails, follow your feet.”

  “You’re going?”

  “I must.”

  “Tell me more first!”

  “I’m afraid there’s no time.”

  He straightened his hat, adjusting the feather. “Give my regards to your Panda Man.” He said the last words with a certain relish, as though they amused him immensely.

  Billy was standing too. She almost stepped to bar his way, but knew it would be futile. But he couldn’t leave. She had so many questions—and here, now, she wasn’t alone. “Why all this for me?” she said.

  “Because you’re a special one, Billy. There’s a great many things lying ahead for you. A great many. That’s why we’re going through all this trouble to keep you safe.” He patted her shoulder. “It was a pleasure. Now, I must go.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  “Probably.” He shrugged. “But it might be a while. And … far, far away from here.”

  He turned, and addressed the woman. “Shall we?”

  The woman nodded stoically.

  The two of them headed towards the counter, in the direction of the back room.

  The man in purple turned and winked. “We’ll have a real chinwag another time.” He flicked his eyes to the ruin around them. “Like I said, it’s usually much more impressive.” Perhaps Billy saw that same violet twinkle in his eyes, then. Perhaps not. “Take care, Ms Peyton,” he said, then he and the woman walked out back, and Billy knew they were gone.

  She wasted no time in leaving, and made her way back to the arch. She braced against the cold she knew would come, and threw herself through the archway. She knew what to expect, but still she cried out when the ice enveloped her, and bright blue daylight suddenly flooded her eyes. She stumbled, almost at a running pace, and staggered to a stop upon the endless flat meadow.

  She turned back to look behind her. She was almost unsurprised to see that the arch was gone.

  Had any of that really happened? It had been a mere moment ago, but now with the wind on her face and the smell of fresh grass in her nose, it seemed so silly. And all this seemed too normal, as though there were no space for magic.

  Then she saw the pigeons. They were everywhere now, swooping overhead in great circling flocks and lining the boughs of the distant trees from edge to edge. Her guts trembled.

  There isn’t much time, she thought. But the voice in her head sounded suspiciously like that of the man in purple.

  The itch in her feet was still absent, but now she had the map. She unfolded it and followed the path laid out. The next stop: a strange collection of stones, some vertical and some laid horizontal atop them, all arranged in a wide circle. If she was reading the map right, it wasn’t far.

  She put her back to where the archway had been, aligning the map in her hands to the path so that it was directly ahead, and started walking.

  “Just follow the yellow bricks,” she muttered. “Hang on, Daddy. I’ll be home soon.”

  *

  Norman grunted as somebody pinched his arm.

  Allie muttered in his ear. “You were leaning on me.”

  He blinked. He hadn’t been aware of anything. “I was?”

  “You were moaning.”

  “Guess I fell asleep.”

  Concern flashed across her face. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re not up to this …”

  “I’m fine.”

  She nodded slowly. “That dream again?”

  “The same.” But it hadn’t been. There had been somebody else there this time, someone new. A young girl with fire-red hair had been standing behind Alex, Lucian and the others. And again, that same cold stabbing into his skin like broken glass.

  He shook himself and turned back to the councillors at the bench. He sensed everyone holding their breath as Evelyn steepled her fingers. She cleared her throat. “The council reco
gnises Alexander Cain and Agatha Shute of New Canterbury.”

  Norman focused on Agatha, her thick cataracts and blank expression only more obvious than usual, amidst the composed dignity of the other councillors. Several times already she had looked confused, but Alexander had leaned across and assuaged her each time.

  The dementia was growing worse. It had held at a steady gradual decline for a long time, but it seemed the trauma of conflict had finally tipped her into a downward spiral.

  Between her, Alexander, and Evelyn, they comprised the original trio, the old guard.

  More for appearances than anything else. We need a little old school right now.

  Evelyn pointed toward two people to her left: Rush and Oppenheimer. Both were the rugged sort, and their ages were impossible to tell, lost somewhere between sixty and ninety. Beyond them sat a woman in her late forties, fat and slouching, her pudgy eyes observing the room with reserved coldness.

  “Geoffrey Oppenheimer and David Rush of the market communities in Norwich and Southampton. Maria Thompson is a temporary representative of a recently discovered federation of villages to the far east.”

  Oppenheimer and Rush nodded curtly. Thompson didn’t respond, her toad-like eyes dark under her prominent brow.

  Evelyn continued the introductions, naming representatives of Bristol, the districts of Cornwall, Northampton, Oxford, Ashford, Bath, and Gloucester. All of them were absent. Of around twenty seats at the bench, only six were chaired.

  “Doctor Dennis Abernathy of Exeter, and”—she cleared her throat—“Mr Oliver Farringdon are both stranded elsewhere.”

  Six of almost two dozen. That’s all that made it. Christ.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Alexander said. His voice boomed in the vast expanses of the council chambers. All eyes fixed on him, including those of the other council heads. “It’s been a hard year for us all. But I’m heartened to know that despite everything that’s been thrown our way, we still sit here, now, together.

  “But we can’t afford to forget our situation. We have to decide what we’re going to do, and fast.”