by Colin Forest
“What’s the matter, Oswald? Are you afraid you might fall? Have you given up on your desire to get home?” taunted Gate. “You sad little thing. Here, if you want to go home so badly …” She opened her mouth wide and extended her tongue. The tunnel beyond looked tempting: an enticement for him to risk his life for the salvation of it. He took a tentative step forward. When he felt more secure, he took another step forward. He repeated this over and over again until he was within a step of Gate’s tongue. All the while, the figure of Necronis grew larger. With an explosive burst, he leaped. He was fast but Gate was faster. Oswald landed on the floor, skidding until he bumped into her chin. He looked up at the sound of her giggle. Her eyes were cast down upon him, her mouth sealed shut.
At that moment, a violent tremor shook the house and caused the floor to give way partially. Oswald slid down the slope towards the breach. He scrabbled desperately for purchase, flailing his arms about and hoping that his hands would get hold of something. As he was about to fall, a sudden force pulled him back with a jerk. Looking back, he saw that the strap of his rucksack had snagged on a piece of protruding timber. He dragged himself back from the brink and lay motionless for a while, feeling his heart beating furiously against his chest and hearing his pulse drumming in his head. He closed his eyes and wished for a speedy end to his ordeal. Things had turned out differently to how he envisaged they would progress.
His eyes snapped open when he heard Fanfer’s scream. He ventured a look over the edge and saw Necronis standing over Fanfer with his finger pressed into Fanfer’s healing wound. Necronis’s soft chuckle mingled with the sounds of Fanfer’s distress. Oswald recoiled from the scene and trembled.
“Did you think it would be easy?” asked Gate. “Do you regret what you’ve done?”
Oswald ignored her.
The ruined floor tilted even more, and Oswald turned his head sideways to the strap still attached to the timber. Its edges had frayed, and the more Oswald struggled, the more the wood ate into it. He knew that the floor would give way soon. The sound of its creaking was like a little alarm which nagged at him, announcing the imminent breakage. Dust motes danced in the air: fine grey particles so unlike the vibrant red of the soil outside.
The Spindle Cat meowed, followed by Fanfer’s roar. The foundations of the house shook as Necronis fell to the floor, swiped at the knees by Fanfer who rose with renewed strength. He pulled himself upright and flexed his arms. And then there was a snap. The sound of wood breaking, though anticipated, still filled Oswald with terror. He closed his eyes, expecting the worst. He felt himself swinging as the piece of timber which held him pivoted downwards. He did not scream as he fell. For a brief moment, he thought of his death and was filled with fear. But the sound of Gate’s laughter chased his fear away. Instead, on his way down, he thought of how much he hated her.
Oswald opened his eyes cautiously when he felt his fall arrested. He knew it was not Fanfer because he could hear Fanfer’s grunts not far away. He was amazed to see that he hung a few feet off the ground, sailing past Necronis and Fanfer; the Spindle Cat, perched not far away from Fanfer ignored him completely.
Ahead of him, the Ringmaster and Christophe sat astride their horses.
“You should thank Arcanus,” said the Ringmaster. “When he saw you in trouble, he convinced me that we should save you.”
“Why?” asked Oswald softly.
“Should there be a reason for saving a life?” asked Christophe, reaching out to grab Oswald by the shoulders. Oswald did not resist, allowing himself to be placed in front of Christophe. Although having the rucksack in front of him was awkward, Christophe was nevertheless satisfied and happy feeling the hard surface of the box pressing against his torso.
A thunderous roar from Necronis drew their attention. Fanfer clung to him, his legs around Necronis’s waist, his fists pummelling and striking at Necronis in the face. Blood flew from Necronis’s lips and landed on Christophe and Oswald. A tiny drop rolled down Oswald’s left temple into the tail of his eye. It burned. Oswald wiped the blood away as best he could, but the stinging sensation would not diminish. He clutched at his eye and bent over in pain.
“Are you all right?” asked Christophe but Oswald did not reply. “Adam, let’s get out of here. He’s hurt.”
After making sure that Oswald was secure, Christophe nudged Octavius forward. The Ringmaster did likewise and they departed from the scene without looking back, all except for Oswald who turned slightly and set his good eye on the Spindle Cat. His sight lingered on the cat as they rode on in silence. The house receded from them and when it was about the size of a thumb, they stopped. Christophe began the ritual to take them home. They could still hear the faint sounds of Fanfer and Necronis as the world around them faded away.
Trees appeared around them and the familiar sounds of birds and insects reached their ears. It was evening when the left. It appeared that it was now morning though it did not feel as if they were away for that many hours. The Ringmaster looked enquiringly at Christophe.
“We should be near the circus,” said Christophe. “The spell works like a spring. It should take the caster back close to where the gate was first opened.”
“How long do you suppose we were away?” asked the Ringmaster.
Christophe shrugged his shoulders and said, “Who knows? Who can tell if time passes at the same speed there.”
“Well, the good news is we are still here. We haven’t aged or turn to dust, like in the fairy stories,” said the Ringmaster jovially. “Although … I sincerely hope the circus hasn’t left. Come, let’s find them.”
There was a chorus of shouts when the Ringmaster and Christophe passed the main entrance. They had wandered about until they came upon a road, which Christophe recognised as the one he had used to get to the circus. They followed it and within minutes, they saw the big tent and its many flags flapping in the wind. Icarus was the first to welcome the Ringmaster, running to his side with a ribbon of steam and smoke in his wake. The Ringmaster shook his head when he saw Icarus.
“Felina and Suresh weren’t there.”
“But we ran into familiar company,” interjected Christophe, indicating Oswald who slumped in front of him.
“Don’t say we didn’t see that coming,” said Icarus. “At least you have the book. And you’re back safely. I was beginning to worry.”
“How long were we away?” the Ringmaster asked Icarus.
“You left two nights before last.”
“Three days? To us, it’s only been a few hours since we left. And it’s only been within an hour since we ran into Oswald.” The Ringmaster looked over his shoulder. “Arcanus, how is he?” he asked. “I can feel that he’s in a lot of pain.”
Christophe turned Oswald over. The flesh around his eye was swollen and his skin felt exceedingly warm.
“He’s ill.”
“Icarus, get Francis while I help him to bed,” said the Ringmaster as he dismounted.
Together with Christophe, he brought Oswald to one of the spare quarters. They had difficulty removing the rucksack from Oswald’s back. Even in his fevered state, Oswald resisted all efforts to take the rucksack from him. He muttered incomprehensibly and swung his arms in a feeble attempt to fight. Tumblety came into the room just in time to dodge one of Oswald’s wildly careening punches.
“Francis, hurry,” said the Ringmaster to Tumblety while pinning Oswald’s arms to his side.
Tumblety opened a bottle and spooned a clear, sweet-smelling liquid into Oswald’s mouth. Within seconds, Oswald’s struggles dissolved and his body went limp. After undressing him, they put him to bed, where he slept soundly.
“How did he get this?” asked Tumblety, examining the swelling.
“Unfamiliar blood got into his eye,” replied Christophe.
“What kind? Can you shed more light on this?”
“The blood of a god,” said the Ringmaster.
“I see.” There was a momentary look of incredulity an
d puzzlement on Tumblety’s face. But within seconds, they were gone. “Then, until I know more about the nature of this blood, keeping him comfortable is the best I can do.”
“Will you let me know when his condition has improved, Francis?” asked the Ringmaster.
“Of course.”
“Arcanus, we better leave Francis to it,” said the Ringmaster, steering Christophe to the door. Outside the door, he said, “Thank you for all your help, Arcanus. We are very grateful.”
“Think nothing of it.”
They walked together for awhile.
“You know, I’m rather hungry,” said the Ringmaster. “Why don’t you join me for something to eat? After the adventure we had, we could do with a good meal.”
“The horses must be hungry as well,” said Christophe.
“Of course. I’ll get Busboy to see to them.”
“Yes, about that. Might I ask a favour of you?” asked Christophe, looking slightly embarrassed.
“By all means.”
“Can you feed my horse the same meal as your own?”
“Oh? Your horse has a taste for meat? Arcanus, you are a man of many secrets too!” They both chuckled as they crossed the circus grounds.
“I have to prepare more medicine for you,” said Tumblety with his back turned to Oswald. “God only knows what ails you. But don’t worry, friend. I’ll have you sorted out. I always get things sorted out.”
He gathered his tools to put away in his medicine bag. As always, Tumblety treated his talisman with the greatest of care. He placed it in the voluminous inner pocket of his coat, where he could feel it against his body.
Another patient, thought Tumblety dourly. I hope you’re better than that woman who tried to kill me. No respect. No respect for me at all.
Tumblety left the room without paying any more attention to Oswald. As the door closed, there was a tiny movement: the twitching of an eyelid.
Chapter 9: An Agreement Reneged
“Adam, what are you going to do about Felina and Suresh?” asked Christophe.
“Now that we have Oswald, perhaps he can be of some help. He seems very close to the giant.”
“What if he doesn’t co-operate?”
“He’ll have to,” the Ringmaster said rather forcefully.
Christophe fell quiet. He passed a piece of sausage into his mouth and chewed silently.
“Are you going to force him?” he asked a moment later.
“I won’t discount it,” said the Ringmaster.
Christophe sipped from his cup.
“You care for them a lot, don’t you?” he asked.
“Of course. They’re family.”
“Do you foresee a situation where you have to leave them?”
The Ringmaster stopped eating. “Arcanus,” he asked, “What’s with these questions? Is there something on your mind?”
“Nothing. Just pessimistic thoughts.”
“I have faith in finding them.”
“How long will you wait here?”
“As long as we have to,” he said.
“I … would like to see a happy outcome,” said Christophe. “If you would allow it, I want to help you look for them.”
“We don’t how long that would take: days, weeks, months …” The Ringmaster played with his eggs as he allowed his words to trail off. Then he pinched off a small piece of bread, dipped it into the runny yolks and put it in his mouth. “You have your own affairs to attend to.”
“Don’t worry about my affairs. My time would be better served here, at the circus.”
The Ringmaster looked deep into Christophe’s eyes.
“I sense that you’re sincere when you say that. Thank you, Arcanus.”
“No, thank you for allowing me to be here.” Christophe lifted his cup in a salute and took another sip.
Oswald stood before the Lonely House where the front door ought to be. It was a standing skeleton of a house, with a caved-in roof and walls demolished in large parts. A large chunk of the inner wall lay on the ground. Gate’s face stared out of it, facing the sky. The look on her face was one of undisguised scorn. Her tongue lashed out as if it were a whip, flicking and quivering just beyond Oswald’s reach.
“This is all your fault. Interloper!” she screeched. “You have no respect for boundaries. One day, you will get your comeuppance. Your act of bastardry will not go unpunished. Mark my words. Lord Necronis will hunt you down and skin you alive, cat.”
Gate babbled on while Fanfer and Necronis fought. Necronis, the larger of the two, towered over Fanfer. The air was thick with the sounds of their grunts and roars. Necronis swung his arm in a wide arc, hitting Fanfer across the jaw. Fanfer’s spittle and blood spilled to the ground. Fanfer returned with a series of punches to Necronis’s stomach. Necronis staggered a few steps back, reaching out for the structure of the house for support. His fingers closed around a still-standing section of wall but it crumbled under his grip. One knee gave way slightly and he dipped close to the ground. Fanfer went in close, but Necronis, shifting his weight to the other leg, pulled his leg up with an explosive kick. Fanfer fell to the ground. Pain was written all over his face. He turned his head to the side, shook it, and spat out more blood and spittle. Necronis leaped into the air and landed with his foot on Fanfer’s chest. A crack sounded. Necronis did not stop. He stomped continuously on Fanfer’s chest, throat and face. Oswald’s point of view suddenly shifted; he realised that he saw events from the Spindle Cat’s eyes, and the cat had just leaped into the air. He saw Necronis’s face looking at him; the eyes bore into him and the lips were curled in a sneer.
The earth suddenly opened up beneath Necronis’s feet. Oswald knew it was the Spindle Cat’s doing. Necronis fell into the cavity but he reached out with his hands and held on to the sides of the opening. His fingers tore into the earth. Pieces crumbled into the hole but he managed to anchor himself. Necronis then reached out with one hand. It appeared to Oswald as if the gigantic palm would blot out the light from the sky and smother him. A golden light washed over Oswald’s sight and suddenly he was somewhere else: he saw Necronis’s hand closed on empty air, to be followed by a scream of frustration.
Oswald was now on the rim of the opening. He bobbed up and down, and bits of soil drifted into the air. He knew that the Spindle Cat was suspended in the air with its legs cycling in one spot. He saw coils of compacted earth erupting from the hole to cut, stab, slice and pound Necronis like hundreds of angry snakes. They looped around him and dragged him deeper into the hole while he fought to break their grip.
Oswald crept up to Fanfer, who lay on the ground on his back. His breathing was loud and laboured. Blood pooled in the creases and depressed areas between his cheeks and nose. A runnel flowed from his torn lip past the corner of his mouth to the ground, where it mixed with the red soil. Fanfer smiled weakly as Oswald peered into his eyes.
“It would appear … that this is the end of the road … for me,” said Fanfer.
A soft meow answered him.
“I am healing … too slowly.”
Oswald’s view shifted again. He looked down on Fanfer, and saw the Spindle Cat’s spinning legs. Fanfer’s wounds knitted themselves shut, much faster than before.
“He is coming back,” whispered Fanfer. “I can … feel him. I … am still too weak … to move.”
The earth shook slightly and he winced at its shaking. A crack appeared, and it ran from the lip of the hole towards Fanfer. It made a low, ominous sound as it spread. Like a river at a delta, it fanned out, giving birth to new channels. Where the crack appeared, the earth shifted, lifting a few feet in some places. Fanfer did not move as a channel appeared beneath him. His blood dripped off its edge, carrying tiny particles of soil which floated on its surface and gave the liquid a dull, dirty look. There was a flash of golden light. It grew until it enveloped Fanfer. The sheen of Fanfer’s skin burned luminously, and he seemed to glow.
The earth shook more violently. Out of the corner of his
eye, Oswald saw an explosion of rock and soil. Necronis burst out of the earth, with some bits of compacted earth still coiled around his body. He planted his arms into the earth, one at a time, and pulled himself out.
“He’s mine, cat!” he yelled.
He flung the pieces of rock in his hands. The boulders sailed through the air towards Oswald. The golden glow died abruptly. As the rocks hit the earth, a cloud of dust billowed into the air. One smashed into the side of a channel, which tore off and tumbled away. The rocks came at Oswald from all directions. He was aware of dodging them – with apparent ease – as they flew by him.
As Necronis threw the boulders, he sprinted. Now, he was upon them, casting his shadow over them. Fanfer’s body still glinted slightly within that murk.
“He IS MINE!”
Necronis picked up Fanfer with one hand, without any resistance. He squeezed hard. Fanfer winced in pain and passed out. Necronis carried Fanfer to where Gate stared out at the darkening sky. Oswald rushed towards Necronis. He disbelieved that he would do so, and he reminded himself that he saw things through the eyes of the Spindle Cat. He hopped into the air and cycled his legs. The boulders which lay strewn about flew into the air and flung themselves at Necronis. He swiped them away as if they were pebbles, with a look of nothing more than irritation on his face. Oswald then landed on Necronis’s shoulders. Claws bit into Necronis’s flesh. A giant palm descended on him. He flew into the air again and landed safely a few yards away.
“Lord Necronis,” uttered Gate.
“Gate. Open up.”
Gate did as she was told. Her mouth widened until it reached the boundary of the broken wall.
“But not to England,” he said.
With his free hand, Necronis reached deep into Gate’s mouth. There was a gurgling and retching sound. Gate’s eyes were squeezed shut in a look of discomfort.
“There. That should do the trick,” he said, removing his hand. “Now, take this body home.”
He placed Fanfer into Gate’s maw. Fanfer’s body dropped a bit until it plugged Gate like a cork. Gate’s tongue curled around Fanfer’s waist, pulling and tugging him in but to no avail.