I opened it. The first few pages did indeed deal with ceramics, and I looked at sketches of plates and cups in various colours and styles. But as I kept turning the pages, I found something else. A book inside a book.
The title page brought a chill to my skin: Inside the Quag. This inner book was not printed. It was handwritten in ink on neatly cropped parchment. I turned through some of the pages. There were words and precisely hand-drawn pictures. And the pictures were truly frightening. Some were of creatures I had never seen before. They all looked to be things that would eat you, given the chance. Some made the garm look downright cuddly.
This had been clever of Quentin, since I would be the only one to know of his dislike of ceramics, and thus be suspicious of his having such a book.
Surely Quentin must have written this. The conclusion spawned from this was equally shocking: he must have gone into the Quag before I saw him do so.
I slipped the Quag book out of the other and stuck it in my cloak pocket.
The next moment I heard a key turning in a lock to the front door of the cottage.
I slipped behind a cabinet and held my breath. Someone came into the room, and I heard the door close. There were footsteps and low murmurs, which made me realize there was more than one Wug about.
Then a voice grew loud enough for me to recognize and, with its rise, my heart sank to the floor.
It was Jurik Krone.
12
THE REWARD
Krone said, ‘We have found nothing. The Wug was not that clever, was he?’
I could not hear the other voice clearly, but it seemed vaguely familiar.
‘The ring is the puzzlement for me,’ said Krone. ‘How came it to be here? Why would the accursed Virgil not leave it to his son?’
The other voice murmured something else. It was driving me mad that I couldn’t tell what was being said or who was saying it. And why had Krone used the word accursed in defining my grandfather?
Krone said, ‘He’s gone into the Quag, that we know. And I believe that Vega Jane knows something about it. She was there that very light.’
The other voice said something, in an even lower tone. It was as though the other Wug knew someone was listening. Then Krone’s reply nearly made my heart stop.
‘We could tell them Herms suffered an Event. Like Virgil.’
I had to stop myself from jumping out and screaming, What do you mean by that?
But I didn’t. I was paralysed.
The other voice murmured back in reply, but again I could not hear the words.
I knew it was risky, but I also knew I had to try. I eased forward on my knees. There was a bit of looking glass on the far wall. If I could just stretch out enough to see if there was a reflection of Krone and the other Wug in—
The door opened and closed before I could move another inch.
Throwing caution to the wind, I jumped up to find the room empty. I raced over to the window next to the front door and looked out. Disappearing around a corner of a hedge was the blue carriage.
How did I not hear the clops of the sleps as they approached the cottage? Or the turn of the wheels? Was it Morrigone in the carriage? Or Thansius?
But who said what paled next to what I had just heard. We could tell them it was an Event. Like Virgil.
That clearly meant that the idea of an Event was a lie to cover something else. If my grandfather had not vanished from an Event, what had happened to him? This destroyed everything I had been taught. This made me wonder what Wormwood really was. And why we were all here. I had to get out of here.
I was halfway out the window when the front door opened once more. I didn’t look back, but the heavy boot steps told me it was Krone. He didn’t call out, which meant he hadn’t seen me. Yet.
I slid out on my belly and hit the ground hard. I involuntarily yelped.
‘Who’s there?’ roared Krone.
I was over the low wall and out of sight of the cottage probably before Krone had even got to the window. I didn’t slow down until I was twenty yards from the entrance to Stacks, where I plunked down in the high grass, totally out of breath, my mind reeling.
A few slivers later, I rubbed my hand after Dis Fidus stamped it. He looked like he had grown a session older since Quentin vanished.
‘You mustn’t be late, Vega. I’ve set out water for you at your station. The heat is already fierce from the furnaces.’
I thanked him and hurried in, still rubbing at the ink on my hand.
The book weighed heavily in my cloak pocket. It was stupid to bring it here, but I didn’t have time to go anywhere else.
I stuck my cloak with the book in my locker and made sure the door was securely fastened. I put on my apron, work trousers and heavy boots before going to the main work area. With my goggles dangling around my neck, I slipped on my gloves and stared at the high pile of unfinished things next to my workstation. I knew it would be a long light’s work. I sipped the cold water that Dis Fidus had left me and began my tasks, working my way through them methodically, reading parchment after parchment of instructions and then improvising when the written directives allowed me to.
Before I realized it, Dis Fidus was ringing the bell that told us it was time to stop working. I was about to change my clothes when we were urgently summoned to the main floor of Stacks.
Domitar came out and stood in front of us as we lined up. We all waited as he paced back and forth.
‘Council has ordered that there shall be a reward,’ he began.
Though we were all knackered from our labours, this got everyone’s attention.
He paused for effect. ‘Two thousand coins.’
A gasp went up among us.
Two thousand coins represented a vast fortune, perhaps more than I would earn in all my sessions at Stacks. It could change everything about my life. And John’s.
Domitar’s next words, however, dashed any hope I had of earning that fortune.
He said, ‘This reward will be paid out to whoever provides sufficient information to Council to apprehend the fugitive Quentin Herms. Or it will be paid out to the Wugmort who personally catches Herms and brings him back.’
The fugitive Quentin Herms?
As I looked at Domitar, I found his gaze upon me.
‘Two thousand coins,’ he repeated for emphasis. ‘You would no longer need to work here of course. Your life would be one of leisure.’
I looked around at the males. They all had families to support. Their faces were blackened, their hands gnarled, and their backs bent from the toil here. As I stared at their exhausted faces, it did not bode well for Quentin, if he ever came back from the Quag. For no Wug would venture in there, no matter how many coins were offered in reward.
Domitar added, ‘We would prefer that he be taken alive. If this is not possible, so be it. But we will need proof. The body, reasonably intact, will do.’
My heart sank. That was practically a death sentence for poor Quentin. If he had risked everything to escape, I could not imagine him not fighting with all his might to prevent his capture.
I once more looked at the males around me, who were now talking in low voices. I could imagine them all going home, getting whatever weapons were handy, and heading out to hunt down Quentin and get the coins and, with them, their life of leisure. They would probably go in teams, to increase their chances of success.
Domitar said, ‘That is all. You may leave.’
We all started filing out, but Domitar stopped me.
‘A sliver of your time, Vega.’
‘Yes?’ I said expectantly.
‘You could use two thousand coins. You and your brother. You would no longer have to work here.’
‘But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing you every light, Domitar.’
His narrowed eyes grew even smaller. ‘You have brains, but sometimes you spectacularly fail to exercise them.’
‘A mixed compliment,’ I said.
‘Two thousand
coins, Vega. And as I said, that includes information leading to Herms’s apprehension. You needn’t catch him yourself.’
‘Or kill him. Like you said, that’s also acceptable to earn the reward.’
His eyes opened fully, revealing pupils darker than I had ever realized. ‘That’s right. That’s what I said because that is what Council has said. You may go.’
As I started to move past him, Domitar gripped my shoulder and jerked me towards him. He whispered in my ear. ‘You have much to lose, Vega Jane. Far more than you know. Help us to find Quentin Herms.’
He let go of me and I hurried from the room. Outside, it occurred to me that the reward was meaningless to the other Wugs. Council knew Quentin had gone into the Quag, which meant no other Wug could find him. The idea of the reward had been directed at me. They wanted information on Quentin. And they thought I alone could provide it.
That’s when I suddenly realized that I hadn’t changed from my work clothes. Even more catastrophic, I had forgotten my cloak. And in the cloak was the book I had found about the Quag.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Would Domitar look in my locker and find it? If he did, would I have to become a fugitive as well? Would the reward for my return dead or alive be two thousand coins? Ten thousand coins?
I had to get the book back. But if I returned now, Domitar would grow suspicious.
Then, in a flash, I suddenly had a plan, one that turned everything upside down.
13
A PAIR OF JABBITS
It was the darkest part of the night and I was on the move. Drops of rain plopped on me as I hurried along, my head down, my heart full of dread.
I had never been to Stacks at night. Now I had no choice. I had to get the book back before it was discovered. I knew it hadn’t been, otherwise I’d be in Valhall already.
I stopped about twenty yards away from my destination. Stacks rose up out of the darkness like some imperious demon waiting for prey.
There was a side door hidden behind a pile of old, decaying equipment that had been sitting there probably since my grandfather was my age. As a storm raged overhead, there seemed to be a thousand eyes in that metal pile, and all of them were fixed on me. Just waiting to strike.
The door was solid wood with a large, ancient lock. I slipped my slender tools into the mouth of the lock and did my little bit of magic – the door clicked open. I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could.
Using my lantern I moved slowly along, peering ahead. A few slivers later, I opened the door to the locker room and slipped inside. There were no true locks on the lockers, just simple latches. I slowly opened the door of my locker, and that’s when something fell out and hit me.
I dropped my lantern and nearly shrieked. I stood there hunched over, trying to keep the meagre dinner I had eaten at the Loons inside of me rather than on the floor. I reached down and picked up the lantern and the book. It was only the book that had fallen out and hit me on the arm. I relit my lantern and leafed through the pages. It was all there. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
I stopped thinking that when I heard the noise. I put the book in the pocket of my cloak and turned my lantern down as low as the flame would go while still allowing me to see in front of me. I stood still, listening as hard as I could.
OK, I thought with an involuntary shudder, that was the sound of something large and swift. I knew of several creatures that would make sounds like that. None of them should have ever been in Stacks.
After one more sliver frozen, I sprinted down the hall of the locker room, away from the door I came in. This turned out to be a good idea, because that door crashed to the floor. The sound was clearer now. It was not the clop of hooves, or the scratching of claws on wood. That ruled out a frek, garm or amaroc. That left basically one creature.
My fears were confirmed when I heard the hissing. We had been told about these vile beasts in Learning. I had never desired to see one for real.
They could move incredibly fast, faster than I could. To my knowledge, three Wugs had been killed by them when they had ventured too close to the Quag. I did not want to be the fourth.
I kicked open the other door and shot through it like I was being propelled from a morta. But the sounds were growing closer still. When I made it to the back hall, I could go one of two ways. The left would take me out of here by the side door from which I had entered.
The only problem was, I saw eyes that way. Big, staring eyes that locked on me. There were about five hundred of them, if I had time to count, which I didn’t. My worst fear had just been confirmed and then doubled.
There was a pair of them after me.
I went to the right. That would take me up the stairs. Up the stairs was forbidden. Anyone working at Stacks who tried to go up the stairs would have his or her head cut off by Ladon-Tosh and thrown in the furnace with the rest of their body parts. But Ladon-Tosh wasn’t here at night. And even if he were, I would take my chances with him over what was coming after me now.
I flew up the steps, hit the top landing and sped off to the right. I glanced back once and saw the innumerable eyes barely thirty feet behind me. I told myself I was never going to look back again.
Something occurred to me as I ran down the upper corridor. These things might be the guardians of Stacks, but only at night. You did not keep these creatures around as pets.
And that meant someone in Wormwood could do the unthinkable. Someone could control them, when we had always been told they were wildly uncontrollable. Not even Duf would ever attempt to train one.
I reached the only door on the hall. It was at the very end and it was locked. Of course it was locked. I grabbed the tools from my cloak, my fingers shaking so badly that I nearly dropped them. The creatures were coming closer now; they sounded like the rush of a waterfall. The screeches from all those awful mouths were so high-pitched that I felt my brain would burst with the terror of it all. It was said that the screech was always the last thing you heard before they struck.
As I inserted the tools in the lock and worked away frantically, all I could think of was John. What he would do without me.
They were right on top of me now.
The screech is the last thing you hear before they strike.
The screech is the last thing you hear before they strike.
I didn’t know whether I was brave to keep my back turned in the face of their charge, or else the biggest coward in Wormwood. As the door opened, I assumed it was bravery.
I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it. I ran my fingers over the wood, hoping it was thick enough. I was knocked down when they hit it. One of the fangs actually came through the boards and nearly impaled my shoulder. I propelled back along the floor and crashed into the far wall, knocking something over. Metal clanged down all around me.
I looked over at the door as it took another blow. More fangs split the wood.
Then one of the heads broke through. A pair of eyes stared at me, barely six yards away. The hole was too small for the rest of the bulk to get through, but either the hole would grow, or the door would come down. Either way, I was dead.
I groped around in the dark. That was when I noticed the tiny door behind the big metal thing that had fallen. The door was barely three feet tall and the knob was curious. I looked more closely. It was the face of a Wug screaming, cast in brass.
There came another smash against the door. I just had time to look back as it collapsed inwards and the beasts sprang through the opening. Now I could see them both fully. I wished I couldn’t.
Jabbits were massive serpents with one key difference. There were at least two hundred and fifty heads growing out of the one body along its full length. And all of them had fangs full of enough poison that one bite would drop a fully grown creta. All of those terrible mouths made the screech. And all of them were charging right at me.
They were a thousand nightmares rolled into a massive, thunderous wall of murderous devilry. A
nd their breath smelt like dung on fire. I was not speculating now. The foul odour made me gag when I needed all the air I had to flee.
I grabbed the screaming-face knob, turned it and threw myself through the opening, kicking the door shut behind me. But this door, tiny and thin, had no chance to stop the relentless juggernauts that are jabbits after prey. It was said that nothing could stop them once they were on the blood scent. I stood and backed away. I drew the small knife I had brought with me and waited, my heart thumping, my lungs heaving.
I promised myself I would strike at least one blow before they killed me. It was said they lingered over their prey. I had also heard rumours that it was possible the poison didn’t kill but merely paralysed, allowing you to stay alive until they were halfway through devouring you. No one knew for sure. No one who had been attacked by a jabbit had lived to tell about it.
‘Goodbye, John,’ I said between tortured breaths. ‘Please don’t forget me.’
Every Wugmort had a time to die. This was surely mine. I stood there, my pitiful knife held in some ridiculous semblance of defence and my gaze on the little door, waiting for it to collapse inwards with my death to surely follow.
Yet the little door didn’t come crashing down. There was silence on the other side. I still didn’t move. All I could think was the jabbits were being tricky, perhaps waiting for me to let my guard down before attacking. Reason quickly dispelled this idea. I couldn’t possibly defend myself against them. They just had to knock down the door and eat me.
Finally, my breath started to level off and my chest stopped heaving. I very slowly lowered the knife, though I kept staring at the little door. I strained to hear anything. But it was as if sound from out there could not reach in here.
I put my knife away. For some reason, it was not completely dark. I could make out things, so I slowly turned in all directions. Because the door was small, I had expected the room to be as well. But it wasn’t. It was a vast cavern with walls of rock. I could not even see the ceiling, so high was it. And then my gaze fixed on one wall.
Vega Jane and the Secrets of Sorcery Page 5