As I continued to watch, a man and woman dressed in quite handsome clothes came down the cobbles. They were tall and good-looking, but the pompous looks on their faces made my blood boil.
Walking behind them was a smaller man dressed in a stiff suit and wearing a shiny hat. His shoes gleamed and his skin was pink from where it had been scrubbed clean. As I looked more closely, I suddenly recoiled in horror.
The smaller man’s eyes were blank. No pupils, just all white. I didn’t know how he could even see.
I also didn’t know whether he was with the couple or simply following closely along behind them.
However, I soon found out. The woman carried a bag. As she opened it, something fell out and plummeted toward the cobbles. The smaller man darted forward just in time to catch whatever had fallen.
So he could see! And his reflexes were quite good as well.
He doffed his hat in a show of politeness, and handed the object — a small bottle — back to her. Instead of thanking him, she snatched it from his hand.
“You almost let it shatter, you fool,” she admonished as he replaced the hat on his head.
Well, I thought, she’d been the one to drop the thing. And he had caught it before it had hit the cobbles. She was acting like it was his fault.
Her companion reached down and struck the other man across the face so hard that his hat flew off.
I saw the welt rise on the other man’s cheek.
He didn’t try to defend himself but merely raced to retrieve his hat while the couple continued down the street, laughing. The other man hurried to catch up while rubbing at his swollen cheek.
I was furious at what I’d seen. And my anger overcame my common sense.
“Engulfiado.”
The geyser of water hit the man and woman directly in the chest and washed them away down the cobbles. By the time they stopped, they were soaked and filthy, their condescending attitudes struck clean from them.
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
The other man hurried after them to help. My smile vanished when they started berating him, as though what I had done was his fault.
As more people emerged from the grand buildings, I noted that several were followed by either a man or woman dressed in the same fancy clothing and walking behind them like some sort of pet — and not a well-loved pet either.
And all of their eye sockets were filled only with white.
It was somehow the saddest thing I had seen here.
My anger began to rise once more, but the next moment I forgot all about that and focused on the crisis that had just presented itself.
Endemen had turned the corner barely a hundred yards in front of me. A split second later three other Bowler Hats appeared behind him.
As I shrunk back, Endemen surveyed the streets, his gaze flitting over where I stood, invisible. Then it came back the other way, seemed to hesitate at a spot uncomfortably close to me and then continued on to observe the legion of morta-toting boys still marching away.
Endemen strode over to stand next to a man in uniform who was surveying the columns of marchers.
Endemen said, “Their training is going well, I fancy?”
“Very well,” said the man. “It’s a nice crop of recruits. Perhaps one of the best yet.”
“Good. Very good indeed.”
“They are our pride and future, after all.”
Pride and future? What exactly did that mean? These boys were no doubt being trained up as warriors. But the thing was, they were using mortas as their weapons. Did that mean they had no magical abilities?
I knew that Endemen and the Bowler Hats were sorcerers. They had wands and they could fly. I scratched my head, my poor brain unable to make head or tail of it.
Then I thought of something else.
I wanted to see what was on the palms of the people who lived here.
Invisible, I skittered forward until I was very near a group of them watching the boys march along. One of the men raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.
Burned onto the palm of his hand was the same symbol I had seen on the flag: the five-pointed star with the pair of hideous eyes.
I drew back, shuddering. I suddenly realized that all of these people must have that terrible symbol burned into their skin.
My attention was drawn back to Endemen, who had left the man in uniform and joined the other Bowler Hats. I sidled up to where I could hear him if he spoke.
He pointed to the couple I’d doused and said quietly, “The Engulfiado spell, undoubtedly.”
“Clearly,” said one of the Bowler Hats. “We will explain it as a water main break and will demonstrate concrete evidence of that to the citizens. But there was no sign of the person performing the spell.”
“What can you tell me about the other matter?”
I was certain I knew what the “other matter” was.
Me knocking out three men last night.
The man said, “We sent a response immediately, but nothing was to be seen. The men were rendered unconscious. We believe it was not by ordinary means.”
I nearly laughed at his choice of words. But what he said next froze me to the bone.
“And the quarry?” asked Endemen.
“He was captured two streets over. And dealt with summarily.”
My heart sank. I had saved the man for the length of two bloody streets only.
Endemen said, “I do not like what I am seeing. The breakdown of law and order. Of respect. We must come down hard on any who show similar signs of independence.”
“What could be causing it, sir?”
Endemen shrugged. “I will recommend that we commence to increase the intensity level of the Mesmerizer. That may very well do it. And then have periodic updates on it for our, um, ‘friends.’ ”
“Of course, Mr. Endemen. Right away, sir.”
Mesmerizer?
I wondered if that was the thing back in True on the wall. Where people’s minds were taken away and replaced with rubbish.
Endemen said, “And no additional sightings?”
“None, I’m afraid.”
“The matter cannot be allowed to remain in such a state,” Endemen said firmly.
“No, sir,” the man replied quickly, and I noted a hint of fear in his features.
Endemen suddenly strode off and his men followed.
Curious, I scurried after them, reaching a darkened alley in time to see Endemen take off his hat and look inside it. There seemed to be a light shining inexplicably from the interior of the hat.
He put the hat back on. “I have been summoned,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Endemen,” said one of the Bowler Hats. “Shall we accompany you?”
“No. You remain here and keep watch.” He added, “I assume no one is looking.”
“It’s quite clear,” said another of the men who was keeping a lookout.
Ironically, he was standing within ten feet of me, the git.
“Keep me apprised.”
Endemen rose six feet into the air, tipped his hat and shot off so fast that in a few seconds he was visible only as a distant blur.
And before I could really think about it, I sprang into the air and soared after him.
I HADN’T FLOWN THIS fast in my life. Yet Destin appeared up to the task. I’d had to put on my goggles or my eyes would have been watering so badly I wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.
I managed to keep Endemen in sight as we flew higher and higher. Finally, we reached such an altitude that we plunged into a bank of low-level clouds.
My stomach seemed to lurch into my throat. I couldn’t see one foot in front of my face. I was flying blind, and I was terrified that I would plow right into Endemen if he halted for some reason.
Thankfully, cold and drenched with moisture from the clouds, I finally flew free of the mists and took up the chase once more. Endemen was wearing no goggles but seemed to have no problem seeing. He was flying in a prone positi
on, his arms at his sides. His bowler hat was still perched neatly on his head, unaffected by our speed and the buffeting winds.
Finally, he started to slow down. I matched his reduction in velocity. I could feel Destin around my waist. Its chain links were like ice. I didn’t take that as a good sign.
As Endemen slowed, he also began to descend.
I looked down and gasped.
Spread out far below us was a rugged mountain shrouded in blackness, though it was fully light out. And on the very topmost part of that mountain was a truly enormous building.
I pointed downward and continued to follow Endemen as he hurtled toward the dirt.
He landed smoothly with not even a stumble — I had to admit, the lout was a remarkable flyer, far better than me.
I hesitated in touching down, hovering ten feet off the ground.
The building I had seen from above was now revealed to me.
It was a castle with high, blackened stone walls, battlements and turrets. It looked a bit like Stacks in Wormwood, only larger.
Endemen was marching resolutely toward the largest pair of gates I had ever seen. They made the massive doors back at Stacks look puny by comparison.
A flag waved from the topmost battlement. As I gazed upward, I could see the symbol clearly. It was the same image that the black-booted and helmeted lads back in Greater True had carried on their flag: the star with two terrifying eyes at its center.
When he reached the portal, Endemen took out his wand and waved it from left to right in front of the massive entrance. The mighty gates silently swung inward.
He passed through the opening. And then the doors began to close.
I drew a tortured breath, put my head down and shot through the narrowing gap, clearing it seconds before the wood thudded shut behind me.
I landed softly and peered cautiously around. My heart was beating so fast that I was terrified Endemen would be able to hear it.
He was about fifty feet ahead of me. As I watched, an incredible transformation took place. His suit, shoes and bowler hat vanished and he was suddenly clothed in a luxuriously long robe the color of blood, with a black hood that was down around his shoulders. And that wasn’t all. As he turned to the side, I could see that his face had changed too. All parts of it had elongated and become hideously demonic. His complexion had turned so pale it looked silver. A thin, sharply angled bloodred beard now covered the lower part of his chin. He looked like a vulture with a man’s body.
As I followed him, I gazed around, taking in as much as I could.
The walls and floors were stone, cold to the touch, and indeed an icy chill seemed to radiate out from them. The corridor was ill lit, perhaps intentionally so, casting flickering shadows here and there. Dozens of corridors snaked off the main one I was on, and blackened and bolted doors lined the hall. My mind conjured images of prisoners behind each of them, awaiting their doom.
Next instant I heard a low moan followed by a scream emanating from deep within the bowels of the place, which gave credence to my thoughts. The terrifying sound sent cold ribbons of fear coursing over me. I involuntarily shivered and drew my cloak closer around me.
I hurried on, as Endemen had picked up his pace, striding purposefully down the center of the wide, darkened corridor. I wondered why no one had come to greet him. And why there had been no guards posted at the front entrance. It was as though the place was uninhabited, but that made absolutely no sense. More likely, they had no fear that anyone uninvited would dare try to get into this fearsome place.
I heard it before I saw it. The sound was unmistakable, and one I knew well. It was actually two sounds: slithering, followed by screeching.
A second later, the creature turned the corner and came into full, towering, terrifying view as it confronted Endemen.
It was a jabbit, an enormous serpent with at least two hundred and fifty heads (no one faced with one had ever lived long enough to properly count them). One bite from a single venomous head was enough to drop a two-ton creta.
Part of me was actually happy to see the dreaded beast heading right for Endemen.
Bite him, I thought. Kill him! Please.
Yet I should have known better. Endemen lazily held up his wand, and the jabbit stopped dead in its tracks. Next he casually walked up to it, and even patted one of its venomous heads!
My spirits plummeted to new depths.
Endemen walked on, leaving the jabbit behind in the middle of the corridor. Before I could even move, the huge beast came slithering toward me. I shrunk back against the wall, wishing I could climb inside the dark stone. All Wugs had been taught to fear the jabbit above every other beast, and I was no exception. The trunk of the serpent passed right next to me. I could have sworn that one of its poisonous heads actually brushed my cloak.
Then the thing froze. And so did I.
Each of its heads twitched back and forth.
It hit me like a lightning spear what was happening.
They were smelling me!
I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to move, terrified to even breathe, so I held my breath.
I stared at the awful creature as it swayed back and forth next to me. I willed it to move on, away from me. For one agonizing moment, my gaze locked with one of the pairs of eyes. I could swear that thing could see me.
Go away. Please.
And then the most amazing thing happened.
The jabbit slithered away and disappeared down the corridor.
With a gush of relief, I let out my breath. I was definitely feeling light-headed and uncomfortably nauseous. But I forgot about that as I looked wildly around.
Endemen was gone!
I HURRIED DOWN THE stone passageway until I reached a large chamber that had multiple corridors fanning off it. I had no idea which one, if any, Endemen had passed down.
I quickly picked one option and shot down it as I heard footsteps approaching in the distance.
There were a number of doors along this way, also all shut. I was about to turn the knob on one of them when a door across the passage opened and a short, brutish man with a trim beard and only a single eye (the other socket being empty) walked out. Like Endemen he was dressed in a long black cloak with a red hood.
Without thinking I shot my invisible self past him and into the room before the door closed.
I huddled back against the wall and tried to catch my breath. My poor heart felt like it might leave my chest and go off skipping down the cobbles.
I managed to calm myself, but a moment later my heart was in my throat again as I heard the voice.
“Please,” it wailed. “Please, don’t. Spare me. Please. I c-can’t take any more. No more. P-please!”
The pure horror in the voice cut through me like a sword into skin.
It was coming from just around the corner. As I steeled myself to look, another voice, equally terrified, burst forth.
“Mummy, no, Mummy. Help me. Don’t let them! Mummy, please, help me!”
This was the voice of a child, someone perhaps younger even than my brother, John.
Still invisible, I sprang noiselessly around the corner, my fingers curled around my wand.
What I saw staggered me.
There was a line of looking glasses hanging on one wall. Inside each glass was a person. They were clothed in filthy rags. They were all bent over, apparently gripped in the throes of terrible pain.
I could now see the source of the voices I had heard.
A mother and daughter were trapped in looking glasses hung side by side. Their skin was very dark. I had never seen skin like that in Wormwood. And their hair was black and hung down around their shoulders. They were screaming in pain, the child futilely reaching out to her helpless mother in the next looking glass, even as the mother was desperately clawing at the edges of her glass prison, trying to get to her child.
I had never seen such anguish.
I turned my attention to the other side of the room.
Unlike the bloke I’d seen leaving earlier, this man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a massive, veined neck. His face looked burned and his eyes were set too close together, giving him a permanently overfocused but also menacing expression. His beard was large and bushy. His clothing was the same black-and-red cloak.
And the mouth revealed amid the mass of beard was twisted into a starkly malicious smile.
He fired another spell at one of the looking glasses, and the person trapped there doubled over and screamed.
As I looked on in horror, I saw what appeared to be sparkling dust falling from inside the glass and gathering in a bottle that had been placed on the floor directly under the glass. Indeed, there were bottles lined up under each glass. All of them held some measure of the sparkling dust.
“Please, don’t,” screamed a woman.
“Mercy,” pleaded a man behind the glass.
“Have p-pity,” moaned another man, who was on his knees hunched over in agony.
These pitiable outbursts only made the bearded man’s cruel smile deepen.
As I looked behind him, I gasped.
Lined up in deep niches on the walls were glass bottles, and they were all filled with the sparkling dust. And each bottle was stoutly corked.
The evil git called out to a moaning man in the looking glass. “Here now, guv, you’re gonna love being an Ordinary, eh.”
An Ordinary? What exactly did that mean?
When he raised his wand again, I matched this movement, readying an incantation of attack.
But then I hesitated. If I performed magic, would I reveal myself?
However, I couldn’t simply let this monster continue hurting these poor people.
An idea occurred to me.
The Width of the World Page 11